


Trust I thru XI

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-05-15
Updated: 2001-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:44:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11335017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Mulder is betrayed by someone he trusts.





	Trust I thru XI

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Trust by Tesa

TRUST 1  
By Tesa  
  
DATE: January 29, 2000  
RATING: NC-17  
CATEGORY: SLASH, RAPE, M/SK Explicit m/m sex  
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television. This is a not-for-profit fictional excursion. Thank you very much.  
SUMMARY: Mulder is betrayed by someone he trusts.  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.  
ARCHIVE: Yes  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is part 1. I've got some ideas for part 2, and who knows what'll happen after that. Comments and constructive criticism greatly appreciated.

* * *

Trust 1  
by Tesa

Mulder lay curled up on the couch, concentrating intently on not thinking. Thinking would lead to pain, and he really didn't want to go there, not yet. He allowed himself to notice the softness of the blanket against his naked skin-no, don't go there. He paid attention to his breathing-kind of shallow due to the pain in his ribs-no, stop. He thought he should call someone, but the phone was so far away. It would require moving. No. He thought desperately about taking a shower, but, again, that required movement, and a decision. Oh, God. A decision must be made. Yes, that was the first step. One thing at a time. He could handle this. He could.

He'd been watching T.V., as usual on a Friday night, when he'd heard a knock on the door. That was not usual. He'd gone to answer it, gun ready. He did have a lot of enemies, so it paid to be ready, to be paranoid. Someone WAS out to get him most times. He'd checked the peephole then set the gun down and opened the door, puzzled. He'd invited the man in, stepped back, offered coffee. The man had entered, closed the door, stood there a moment, his back to Mulder, then turned around.

Mulder hadn't had a chance. The man was bigger, stronger, experienced, determined. Mulder fought. He fought hard and dirty, but the man knew all the moves, all the counters. His blows were direct, accurate, and brutally hard. In just a few moments Mulder found himself stunned, helpless, as the man roughly stripped him of T-shirt, sweats, and shorts. He found the strength in panic to struggle again, but two quick body blows cracked his ribs and drove the breath from his lungs. It's hard to fight when you can't breathe.

The man lifted him over his shoulder and carried him into the bedroom, dropping him on the bed. He saw Mulder was beginning to get his breath back, and he hit him again. In just a few moments Mulder was tied and gagged, belly down, legs spread wide.

Mulder felt the man's weight come down on the bed between his outspread legs. He struggled, pulling uselessly against his bonds. A punch to his back, and he arched his body against the agony, crying out, but he lay still. A hand separated his buttocks, and he felt the first burning pain of penetration. The hands went to his hips, lifting them up to receive the first deep thrust.

Mulder yelled from the pain and sheer outrage, the sound muffled by the gag filling his mouth. Hands shifted, fitting themselves around his throat, squeezing enough to choke his breath, not enough to stop it completely. Mulder took the hint and choked back his next scream, trying to make the unreality of the whole scene make sense.

The man fucked him deep and slow, each thrust accompanied by a low grunt of effort. It burned. Oh, God, it burned. Pain had claws, Mulder realized, and they ripped him from the inside as a huge, blunt object battered him deep inside. He could feel his blood easing the man's deeper penetration.

Mulder fought for every breath. He fought against the hands bruising his throat and the weight of the large man atop him. He fought against the undeniable presence of a man's dick in his ass. Gradually the fear and the pain and the hopelessness of it all sapped him completely. The man controlled him, just as he'd done from the moment Mulder let him in. Mulder groaned almost silently, and he felt his body surrender. He relaxed, taking the man's weight, accepting the man's cock deep in his ass, allowing the man to fuck him, to violate him, to destroy him. His eyes blanked out, looking but not seeing the bedspread bunched next to his face. His mind drifted, disconnected from the body being abused here. He barely noticed the final, deep thrust, the deep groan of male pleasure, and the hot spurt of semen filling his ass.

His bonds were cut and his gag removed, and the man pulled away. He heard sounds of rearranged clothing, fading footsteps, the opening and closing of a door. The facts filtered through slowly. Gone. He was gone. He was alone. He was naked. He was vulnerable. He had to get up. He had to lock the door. Shit. It hurt so badly.

Mulder forced himself to his feet, letting the moans of pain out this time. It made him feel a little better and a little ridiculous at the same time as he moaned and groaned and muttered to himself. He reached the door, locked it, grabbed his gun, pulled his sweats back on, then curled up on the couch with a blanket. He knew he was reacting oddly, but, hey, what was new? He was different. He always had been.

He shuddered and shook, grabbing the blanket close. Oh, God. Raped. He'd been raped. He'd been fucked up the ass. This didn't happed to F.B.I. agents, to men like him, did it? He closed his eyes. Obviously it did. It had. No, go back to not thinking about it. Think about what to do next. What now?

Calm down. Relax. Think. He was safe now. The man had left, and he'd never get near him again. He clutched his gun close, feeling the grip warm in his hand. No, Walter Skinner would never get that close to him again.

Think it through, Mulder, he told himself. One step at a time. First, call the cops? God, did he want that bastard to pay. He'd hurt him. He'd hurt him so bad. Play it out. If he called the cops, they'd come. They'd see. There would be hospital exams, interviews, reports, a trial. Everyone and his brother would know Fox Mulder, F.B.I. agent, had been fucked up the ass by his boss. And that was the best possible outcome. Suppose Skinner claimed it had been consensual. Bruises and blood or not, it might fly. Mulder's reputation was none too good, and Skinner's was squeaky clean. Cops and juries would believe him if he said Mulder had wanted it rough. Sure, Skinner's career would be over, but so would Mulder's. No. No cops

O.K., what about an ambulance? There would be the same exams and permanent medical records detailing his injuries. If he said he'd been raped by an unknown subject there would still be cops, interviews, lying, exposure. No. If he said a lover had done it, his records would reflect homosexual experience. No. No hospital.

All right, what about Scully? He had to tell her. No doubt about that. Scully was his partner, his best friend. Even if he discounted his own need to tell her, to ask for her help, she needed to know Skinner couldn't be trusted. No way would he allow Scully to be endangered. But as much as he needed to talk to her, to see her, to just be with her, he also needed to be alone right now. He couldn't allow her to see him like this-beaten, bloody, and broken. No. Not yet. And, God, no way could he stay here tonight. He had to get out, get away, away from this place, away from town, away from Skinner.

So. First step was to get cleaned up. He needed to get clean like he needed his next breath. He needed to wash the blood and semen away. He climbed off the couch, groaning again at the harsh flare of agony from bruised, battered flesh and torn tissue.

In the shower he turned the water on as hot as he could stand it, turning his face down, letting it fall on his head, running down his eyes like a curtain. He soaped and scrubbed, trying to wipe it all away. It didn't work, of course. After awhile he lost the battle and slowly sank to the floor, curling up against the wall, the harsh sobs of a man who hadn't cried since he was a child tearing out of his chest and throat. God...please...why? The water finally turned cold, and Mulder climbed to his feet, feeling washed out, empty. Time to get going.

He dried himself and dressed quickly. He didn't want to be naked, not now. He packed a bag, ignoring the signs of struggle, the blood and the other bodily fluids spattered around his apartment. In a few minutes he was gone.

****

Mulder leaned against the wall, looking out over the ocean. He'd arrived at the coast early and had taken a room. He hadn't even tried to sleep. He knew better. Shit. He'd always had trouble sleeping. He really did not need this extra little nightmare.

It was late afternoon, and he'd been walking and thinking most of the day. He had to decide what to do. He didn't have much time. He was due back at work early Monday morning. He and Scully had a meeting scheduled with Skinner to debrief a case they'd just wrapped up. He just didn't know how he could face the man. His stomach tightened into a knot, and he broke out into a sweat just thinking about it.

Wild ideas and thoughts ran through his mind. He thought of killing Skinner and wondered what jail would be like. Or he could kill him then kill himself. Yeah, that was better, but if he killed himself he'd never find his sister, never prove his theories, never stop THEM. It would be the act of a coward, and he didn't want to think of himself that way. He could come up with a plan to kill Skinner and get away with it. Possible. But the more he thought about Skinner and what he'd done to him, the more he struggled to understand it.

He'd known Walter Skinner for years. Sure, he knew him only as a boss, and, sure, he'd straddled the fence a bit. A few times Mulder had wondered whose side he was on. In the end, though, he'd always come through for them. Mulder couldn't imagine a straighter arrow-former U.S. Marine, career F.B.I., all around Boy Scout. If he hadn't been there, he wouldn't believe Skinner could rape anyone. Yet he had. Why?

Mulder set his profiler's training and instincts to work. He thought about the years he'd known the man, examining every conversation, every action, every case, every truth and every rumor he'd ever heard about the man. Time passed, afternoon drawing down to evening as Mulder walked, his mind miles away. He finally came to a stop, looking up to find himself back where he started, looking over the wall at the endless sea. Pulling his feelings out of it, Mulder knew the bottom line was that Skinner would never willingly rape anyone. But he had raped Mulder. Therefore, he'd done it unwillingly. He'd been forced into it, somehow.

Mulder slowly walked back towards his motel. His theory didn't change the situation, the reality. It didn't change the fact that Skinner had betrayed him, beaten him, raped him. It didn't give him a way to face the man Monday and pretend nothing had happened, or make it easier to confront him or stick a gun in his face and demand some answers, some payback, and the return of some of the self-respect that had been stolen from him.

It didn't change the fact that Mulder had been controlled so thoroughly by Skinner that he didn't even think he'd bruised the other man. He'd been totally helpless, totally powerless, and Mulder didn't know if he could deal with that. Another man had fucked him, demonstrated his superior strength and skill, destroyed his belief in himself, and taken away his sense of safety. He knew he'd never forget it, never be the same. And even though he'd decided not to kill himself (not today, at least), he wanted to. Oh, yes, he yearned for the quick relief of his gun in his hand, a bullet in his brain. He didn't want to live with the knowledge of his weakness, his shame at not being able to stop it, his overwhelming fear that it could happen again. But he couldn't give up on Samantha like that; he couldn't just leave her alone. He couldn't leave Scully like that either, wondering if she could have predicted his actions, maybe stopped him. He couldn't leave her alone to face their enemies. But oh, how he wanted to.

It was pretty ironic, really. He had been attracted to his boss since the first time he'd seen him all those years ago. Of course, he'd never done anything about it. He was fond of living, mostly. That wasn't the only reason, though. The biggest reason was fear. He'd been attracted to individuals of both sexes throughout his life, but he'd always been too scared to get involved with a man. He may have been unconventional enough to believe in things others laughed at, but he had never met a man he'd believed worth the necessary effort and inevitable pain of breaking society's rules. Now...well, not only could he scratch Skinner off the list, he was pretty sure he could scratch men off the list, period. No way was he ever going to be that vulnerable again.

Mulder unlocked the door to his room and entered. He was tired physically, mentally, and emotionally. He carefully lay down on the bed and reached for the phone. Time to call Scully.

"Scully."

"Scully, this is Mulder. What're you doing?"

"Mulder, it's the weekend. I'm doing weekend things. Why aren't you?"

Mulder had to smile. "I am, Scully, but I need to talk to you. Can you come over tomorrow?"

"Mulder," she said, exasperated, "what part of 'it's the weekend' don't you understand?"

"No, Scully, it's not about work. I...just need to talk to you."

Scully stiffened. What was going on? "Mulder? Talk to me now."

"No, not on the phone. Can you come tomorrow?"

She was really worried now. Mulder was usually so impatient, and he wanted to wait until tomorrow to talk? "I'll come over tonight."

"Scully, I'm not in D.C. Tomorrow's soon enough, if you can. I'll give you directions."

Scully sighed. What was he up to now? "Sure, Mulder." He gave her the directions. "I'll be there around ten, O.K.?"

"Great, Scully. I appreciate this."

"No problem." He hung up, and Scully stared at the phone in her hand. Even for Mulder, that was weird.

****

Mulder faced Scully over breakfast at the Denny's just down the street from his motel. She'd been remarkably patient, but that patience was just about running out. He looked pale and drawn, his eyes weary and strangely old-looking. He played absently with his food, his head down.

"Mulder, what's going on? What are we doing here? What am I doing here?"

Mulder looked up, meeting her eyes and trying a small smile. He swallowed, wondering how to begin. It was so hard. He didn't want to see pity or blame in her eyes. He wouldn't be able to live with that, he knew. "Scully...I...." He took a deep breath and tried again. "I was raped Friday."

Scully heard the words, but it took her long moments to understand them, to connect them with the man sitting before her, watching her face intently. She knew, she knew that one wrong word, one wrong expression would shut him off entirely. Oh, Mulder. Oh, God, Mulder. Her face was carefully concerned, her words soft, "Mulder, what happened?"

Mulder started to relax. She had heard. She understood. He didn't see horror or pity, only friendship. His eyes dropped to his plate as he told the story from the beginning.

Scully listened intently, her stomach tight and churning. She could see it happen in her head, and she knew she'd never forget. Rage started to build in her belly, spreading throughout her body, flushing her face, and she wanted to kill. She could imagine her hand wrapped around her gun, him standing in front of her, begging, her pulling the trigger again and again, killing him for hurting her partner like this. It slipped out, "I'm going to kill him."

Mulder pulled himself out of his memories and saw Scully's rage. He was startled at her utter ferocity, but it warmed him, too. No, she didn't hate him. She didn't pity him. He loved her the more for her protectiveness, but he had to pull her out of it. "Scully," he said softly.

Scully met his eyes, watching her, his love and friendship shining through, and her anger faded, leaving her only pain at his pain. "Are you alright? I want to take a look after breakfast."

Mulder nodded. He'd expected that, and, although it would be hard, he knew it was necessary. "Yeah. I've got lots of bruises, maybe some cracked ribs." He ducked his head. "I...bled from my anus for awhile after... but it stopped. I'm just...sore, now."

***

Scully nodded her acknowledgement. "Why didn't you call the police?" She was careful to keep the words straightforward, a simple question, not an accusation.

Mulder told her his reasoning, beginning with that question and ending with his belief that Skinner had been coerced into hurting him. He finished talking, looking up at her to gauge her reaction.

She was quiet, thinking about the whole situation. Abruptly she stood. "Come on, Mulder. I want to take a look at you, and think about this."

In the motel room Mulder slowly undressed. He really wasn't eager for Scully to look at him, at his bruises, up his ass. Being naked made him feel vulnerable, and Scully seeing the evidence made him feel dirty, ugly, ashamed. She'd know how bad he'd been hurt. He knew that she'd seen it all before, but that hadn't been him.

Scully saw his reluctance and knew what he was thinking, but she really needed to make sure he was all right. She examined him gently, thoroughly. Finally it was over. He got dressed quickly, relieved.

"O.K., Mulder, you were right. You're severely bruised, and you have possible cracked ribs. Have you had any blood in your urine or stool? No? Good. Your anus looks inflamed and raw, but you don't look torn too badly. I want you to see a doctor I know when we get back to D.C. No, no arguments. He's a friend, and he'll keep it out of your records. This is non-negotiable."

Mulder sighed and nodded. He could never tell her no. He knew she was worried about him, and, to tell the truth, so was he. He had no desire to get an infection or endure permanent damage down there.

"Let's go for a walk," Mulder suggested. He didn't want to stay in the motel room. It was just too confining. He had to get moving to be able to think. And, of course, it still hurt to sit, or lay, for that matter.

Scully nodded, and they left the room, walking slowly. "Mulder, what if you're wrong? What if he did it because he wanted to?"

"If he just did it because he wanted to...I'll be able to see it in his eyes, in his face, in his body. You've interrogated rapists, Scully. They can't help but gloat and enjoy their victory. You know what I mean."

"Yes. I know what you mean. What can we do if that's the case, Mulder?"

"If he's a rapist...well, they don't stop. They can't stop. I'll have to stop him."

"We, Mulder, we'll have to stop him."

Mulder smiled. "Yeah, that's what I meant. But if I'm right, he was somehow forced to do it. He didn't...he never said a word, Scully, so I don't know if just asking him is going get us anywhere."

"No. We're not just going to ask him. Mulder, we're going to kidnap him."

"What!?"

"We're going to make nice at the meeting Monday morning, and Monday night when he goes home, we're going to be waiting. We'll take him as he leaves his car. We'll drive him...away, somewhere, and ask him a few hard questions. And when he answers, we'll know what to do with him."

Mulder was stunned. Scully sounded committed. She sounded downright scary. He loved it. This plan sounded more his style than hers, though. What was going on? "Scully...are you sure you want to get involved in something like that? He's pretty dangerous-this whole thing could easily turn on us."

Scully turned to face her partner. "I know what you're thinking, Mulder. You think I'm jumping in without thinking, like you usually do. You think this is out of character for me, the quiet, calm, methodical one. Well, I happen to think this is a logical, methodical plan. Skinner hurt you, Mulder, and one way or another, we're going to find out why. And we're going to take care of the situation. Skinner's our supervisor, Mulder. If we can't trust him, we need to know now. And while I may not be as aggressive and impulsive as someone we both know, nobody hurts my partner and gets away with it!" She half yelled the last sentence, her face red with anger and determination.

Mulder slowly pulled her into a hug. He pressed his face into her hair, loving her strength and her courage. Oh, how he needed it to keep him going. He'd known that she valued their friendship, but now he knew that she loved him, just as he loved her. It wasn't a romantic sort of love, but one just as strong and sure, maybe more. They stood there for a long time, taking strength from one another. They had one more day to come up with a plan. Then he'd have to face his boss, his rapist.

End of part 1

 

* * *

 

TRUST 2  
By Tesa  
  
DATE: April 2, 2000  
RATING: NC-17  
CATEGORY: SLASH, RAPE, M/SK, Explicit m/m sex  
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television. This is a not-for-profit fictional excursion. Thank you very much.  
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully look for some answers  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.  
ARCHIVE: Yes  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Comments and constructive criticism greatly appreciated.

* * *

Trust 2  
by Tesa

Walter Skinner sat in his office Monday morning, his body present, but his mind far away. He had a meeting with a couple of his agents, Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, in just a few short minutes. He dreaded it. He had dreaded it since Friday evening. No, actually, it had been since Thursday. Thursday was the day he'd been contacted by the Consortium and given his orders to rape Mulder.

He had been stunned speechless for far too long. He had replied-no way in hell. He had been determined. No matter what, he was not going to hurt one of his own people. He'd die first. Unfortunately, he hadn't had the opportunity to prove it. In the end, he agreed, as they had always known he would.

Friday night he had gone over to Mulder's apartment and brutally beaten and raped him. He had left him there, bloody and wet with Skinner's semen. Nausea churned in his stomach as he remembered what he did to a man that he respected and admired. No, be honest, he told himself. He felt a lot more for Mulder than respect and admiration. He genuinely liked him. He enjoyed his off beat sense of humor. He was in awe of his quick mind, his determination, and his openness. And he really loved the way he filled out a suit-not bulky, but slim, strong, and elegant.

It didn't matter what he thought any more. He had betrayed a man's trust, and that one wasn't a man to trust easily. Mulder would never trust Skinner again. Not that he blamed him. Skinner rubbed his forehead. What was he going to do? What was he going to say? How could be get through this? How could Mulder get through this? The questions ran in circles in his mind, but no answers followed.

He wondered what Mulder had done after he left him. Had he called Scully? He hoped he had. He didn't want to picture Mulder trying to deal with his injuries alone. God. Nausea spiked hard, and he ran for the small attached bathroom, falling to his knees, retching uncontrollably. He had to get a hold of himself. It would all be for nothing if Mulder found him like this.

He was ready when the intercom buzzed and his assistant's voice informed him his agents were waiting. He could do this. He calmly told her to send them in.

***

Mulder followed Scully into AD Skinner's office. His heart was beating wildly, his head felt faint, and his belly twisted with knots. His greatest desire was to not faint in front of this man. Well, maybe it was his second greatest. His first was to not have to be here at all. It all felt so surreal, being here, as if it were any other day, any other meeting with his boss. But it wasn't. He felt that truth in the pain that flared with his every movement, and he saw that truth in the deep, ugly purple and black bruises that circled his neck. The bruises were partly covered by his shirt collar, and Scully had tried to cover the rest with make-up, but he knew they were there and so did Skinner. Mulder repressed a shudder.

He managed to follow Scully to the chairs in front of the desk and sit down, all without actually looking at the man behind it. Mulder concentrated on breathing, trying to calm down, trying to get a grip. He could do this. He looked up at the sound of the deep voice.

"Agents. What can you tell me about the Sorenson case?"

The meeting was quick and to the point. Scully briefed their boss on the case and answered his questions, and it was over. Mulder found himself standing next to Scully, his boss already looking down at a file. He swallowed hard and grabbed tight to his courage. "Sir?"

Skinner looked up, clearly impatient. "What is it, Agent Mulder?"

"I need to ...I have some questions..." Mulder trailed off.

Skinner didn't give him an inch. "Questions about what, Agent?"

Mulder felt his determination start slipping away and glanced at Scully, gathering encouragement. "I have questions about our last meeting, sir. I need clarification on the issue we...discussed."

Skinner was silent for long minutes then he looked up, his face still calm and unreadable. His eyes met and held Mulder's. "I'm meeting colleagues for lunch today. I think I have some time afterward. Check with my assistant. Good day, Agents." They were clearly dismissed.

Mulder found himself outside the office, dazed.

"Mulder?" Scully asked, concerned.

Mulder blinked. "Yeah...let's go." He met her gaze, trying to convey to her that he was handling this.

Scully nodded and followed him back down to their office. She knew better, but it would have to wait.

The day dragged by in paperwork and coffee and the unending crack of Mulder's sunflower seeds. He didn't want to think about it, so he wouldn't. He concentrated on his work, burying his pain, confusion, and fear. Scully knew what he was doing, but it was probably for the best. He needed to be able to function, at least until they got the answers they wanted.

Finally it was time to go. Mulder grabbed his jacket and followed Scully out. Even as stressed out as he was, he found some irony at the reversal. Usually it was he who led and Scully followed. Not this time. This time it was Scully's plan and Scully's will that was driving them both. That was good, because Mulder didn't know what he'd have done without her. Scully had talked about kidnapping Skinner and going after the answers they needed, but that had been in the heat of her initial fury. After talking and plotting late into the night, they had agreed to try the easy way first. They were going to ask.

They left the building and walked down the street, both of them silent with their own thoughts. They found a suitable place and settled down to wait. Less than a half hour later they say him walking toward them. They waited. He passed them, striding by without hesitation. They waited a few moments, checking out the street for possible watchers, then followed.

Scully kept them on track after their quarry while Mulder kept an eye out for others too interested in the man. He took a measured, twisting course, until finally he entered a small cafe, looking back briefly, for the first and only time.

Mulder and Scully paused just outside the door. Scully asked, "Are you ready, Mulder?" She watched him with warm concern filling her eyes.

"Yeah. I'm ready. Let's go." Mulder's heart was beating fast, too fast, but this was hard, so fucking hard. He'd faced Skinner at the office, but at least there he knew nothing real could be said or acknowledged. Here he might get the answers he needed, but he was scared. He was scared of those answers; he was scared he couldn't handle them; he was scared to see signs of the elation of victory or maybe disgust at Mulder's weakness in Walter Skinner's eyes. Or was he scared to see nothing at all in those eyes?

Skinner sat alone a booth in the back corner. Three menus lay on the table. He was watching them enter the cafe. He continued to watch them make their way to the table, waving off the waitress. They came up to the table and stood beside it, waiting.

"Agents. Join me, please." His voice was low, calm. They warily slid into the bench opposite Skinner, Mulder on the outside. No way was he going to be shut in like that. They were quiet as the waitress came and got their drink orders.

Scully took the lead once again. "So we were right in assuming you invited us here?"

"Yes. I hoped you would come. There are too many ears in that building. Were we followed?"

"Not that we could tell," Scully answered. A thick, heavy silence fell. The waitress returned to bring their drinks. Skinner told her that was all they were having. He didn't think any of them would be up to eating during this discussion.

Skinner's mind worked furiously. What should he tell them? What would be safe to tell them? What would they accept? They stared at him silently, waiting.

Skinner ran his eyes over Mulder, searching his face, his body, and his demeanor. He had resisted the urge during their morning meeting, not wanting to see what he'd done. Now he had to look. He saw the minute signs of pain and stress in Mulder's pale complexion and tired, strained face. His eyes looked old and exhausted. He held his body stiffly, his arms folded across his body. As his eyes met Skinner's he slowly paled even further, and he swallowed, his throat muscles working. Skinner saw the shadows above his collar, and it took him a minute to identify them as his fingerprints.

Fuck it, Skinner thought. He didn't have the strength or the will to lie convincingly, and these two wouldn't be satisfied with anything but the truth, anyway. Mulder deserved the truth, and he wouldn't make the man ask for it. He held Mulder's gaze as he spoke directly to him.

"He ordered me to rape you."

"Who did?" Scully barked. Her face didn't soften. She wasn't appeased.

Mulder breathed slowly. Hold it together, he told himself. It wouldn't take much longer. He hoped. Skinner was being remarkably forthcoming. If he was telling the truth, of course.

Skinner didn't look away from the man he'd raped. "You know who, Agent Scully. Our cigarette smoking friend."

"Mulder, I'm sorry. I hurt you...I didn't know what else to do." Skinner saw the memory flare to life in Mulder's eyes, and it took every last bit of will he possessed not to look away.

An ember of anger was beginning to glow in Mulder's chest. It helped to push the fear and shame and horror back a little bit, enough to pretend, anyway. He had a lot of experience at pretending. Sometimes he thought his whole life was a pretense. "Why?" His voice was soft, low, almost toneless. "Why did you do it?" He wasn't really surprised at what Skinner had already said, but he hadn't been able to imagine what would make Skinner do it. Maybe he just didn't want to think it had been easy for him. Please, please, please, give me something, Mulder silently cried out. Give me a reason I can live with. Give me a reason we can all live with.

Skinner's eyes finally dropped. He turned his head away, trying to figure out what to say. He wanted to tell Mulder the truth, but he couldn't. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Shit. He met Mulder's eyes again. Eyes dark with pain; eyes that were waiting for a lifeline. A lifeline he couldn't give him.

"I can't tell you." Skinner watched the life drain from Mulder's face until it was white and stark, just skin stretched over bone.

"Then I guess we'll have to kill you." Scully's declaration was hard and relentless.

Skinner jerked to face her, disbelieving his ears. Scully was one of the most straight-laced, by-the-book agents he'd ever known. He couldn't believe she was talking about murder. It was an empty threat, wasn't it? He surveyed her resolute face and wasn't sure. He took a deep breath. He didn't think that she was serious, but even if she was, it didn't matter. He still couldn't tell them what they wanted to know.

Mulder watched dully. He heard Scully's threat and saw Skinner's reaction. He knew now that the man wouldn't budge. All this was for nothing. They were back where they started. The anger he'd felt earlier had drained away. He was back where he started, trying to believe that Skinner had a good reason for brutalizing him. He was trying hard to believe that, because if it wasn't true, he didn't think he'd be able to stand it. Mulder lived with a lot of uncertainty. He lived with a missing sister he'd never know the truth about. He lived with questions about his family, his true parentage, all the cases he'd seen. He could take a lot of uncertainty. He didn't know if he could take not knowing if his boss was going to beat and fuck him again.

But it didn't look like he was going to get any reassurance tonight. "Let's go, Scully."

"Mulder," she protested, "we still...."

"No. He's not going to say anything. Let's get out of here."

"Mulder, I was serious. We can make sure he never hurts anyone again."

Mulder looked at her, a smile quirking his lips. He knew she was serious. What had he ever done to deserve a friend like this? She'd consider this for him, Scully, the woman that never jaywalked if she could help it. "It's O.K., Scully. Really."

"No, Mulder, it's not. The man's our boss, and we can't trust him. You want to depend on him for backup? For legitimate assignments? For anything at all?"

Mulder was more tired than he could ever remember being, and it kept getting worse. He had to get out of here before he collapsed.

Skinner had been watching the exchange. "Agent Scully, I know you have no real reason to trust me, but I promise you that I will never knowingly place you in deliberate danger on the job. I take my position as your direct supervisor very seriously, and I will not fail in my responsibilities toward you in that respect."

"But you'll beat and rape my partner whenever you feel like it, is that it, Skinner? Because, excuse me, sir, but that's not a deal I want any part of."

Mulder heard them fighting it out, the words muffled and indistinct, as if underwater. He had been able to hold it together as long as he had hope of some answers, but now he knew better, and he was losing it. He was losing it all, and he couldn't stop it.

No. That small ember of anger flared to life again, just enough to give him the strength not to collapse. He'd die before he exposed his weakness to this man. He spoke to the table blindly, "I have to go. Scully, I'll call you later." He slid out of the booth, ignoring their words floating and darting around his head. He knew he had to escape while he could, while they were still slowed from the surprise. He was out the door and gone in seconds.

Scully took a few seconds to pin Skinner with her stare. "If you come near either of us again it'll be the last thing you ever do." Then she was gone, chasing after her partner.

Skinner sat back down slowly. He believed her. It changed nothing, however.

******************************************************

Mulder roamed the city blindly, his fear and his pain driving his legs to move and keep moving until utter exhaustion finally slowed him and he dropped down onto an isolated park bench. He had no safe place to go to. He hadn't been back to his apartment since the attack, and he didn't know if he could face it. There was cleaning up to do. His stomach churned, and he fought back the gag that threatened his empty stomach. He'd stayed with Scully last night, after he'd seen Scully's doctor friend, but he couldn't do that every night. Maybe he should move. He gave a silent, sarcastic laugh. It wasn't the apartment that was the problem. It was the people that kept frequenting it, and he knew they'd follow him wherever he went, as long as he kept doing his job and pissing them off. And he wouldn't stop that. He couldn't. Not and live with himself.

He took a deep breath. O.K. Come on, Mulder. This isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to you. You've got to admit that. This wasn't anywhere near as bad as losing your sister. So you got beaten and raped. It happened to a lot of women, and not a few men. It happened. People get on with their lives; you can do it, too. A little pain, a few bruises, physical and emotional. O.K. Live with it. He sighed. It wouldn't be that easy, he knew, but he was really too tired and wrung out to face that truth. He needed to go back to the apartment, and he needed to call Scully. She was going to be so pissed at him for worrying her like this. He stood up. Time to face the music.

The days passed, and things gradually got better. He never forgot, but he was able to push the memories and the pain into the background. It only worked for minutes in the beginning, but soon it was a half hour, then an hour, then, eventually half a day before he thought about what had happened to him.

Work was the same as always, days doing paperwork and filing and taking meetings at the Bureau, then days on the road, alternating as usual. Skinner acted as he always had, as if nothing had changed between them. Sometimes Mulder would be in a meeting, watching him talk and thinking, this man had his dick up my ass. The total unreality of it all washed over him. Nightmares came for him in the darkness, and panic attacks sneaked up on him in the daylight. You could get used to just about anything, he thought with a wry inward smile.

If his fellow agents thought he was paranoid before, now they had ample proof of their diagnosis. Mulder was jumpy as a cat, and he did his level best not to be alone with anyone. In the back of his head was the idea that if Skinner could turn on him like that, anyone could. He installed deadbolts and new locks, and his gun was never far from him.

One month after the attack, Mulder woke with a start, his heart thumping furiously, erratically. His eyes searched the dimly lit room, looking for the source of the sound that had awakened him. He reached automatically for his gun then he saw the tall, man-shaped shadow extending its arm toward him. He felt a small sting in his chest and looked down, staring stupidly at the feathered dart protruding from his skin. His racing heart only spread the drug faster, and he slumped back on the couch, consciousness fading.

He woke slowly this time, becoming aware of the ropes circling his wrists, holding him face down on the bed even as more ropes pulled his ankles down and apart. He became conscious of his nakedness and the pillows piled under his hips, raising them high. Sickness coiled in his gut, and his mind began to turn circles. No. He couldn't take this again. No, please, no. His breath shuddered in and out, and his body shook uncontrollably. Please, he silently begged. I can't take this.

He felt the man's weight come down on top of him, bare skin to bare skin, and he felt the hard threat of a cock pressed against his ass. Mulder was gagged, but he tried to talk, to beg. The words were unrecognizable pleading sounds, and he hated himself for it, but he couldn't stop.

"Mulder. Relax. It's going to be all right. Just relax." Skinner's voice was low and soft, trying to reassure him, to calm him. It wasn't working. The words continued, but Mulder couldn't process them anymore. He felt fingers slick with some substance push insistently into his body and his mind spiraled away from his body, leaving it all behind. His body relaxed as his mind found its familiar place to hide from the world, and he slid into warm memories of playing with his sister before she was taken from him.

Skinner felt Mulder relax under him, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He really didn't want to hurt the man any more than he had to. He gently prepared the man lying so still under him for his penetration, his fingers slowly thrusting and stretching the warm, tight asshole.

He lubed himself up and guided his cock into the man, slowly forcing himself full length into him until his balls pressed against his body. Then he fucked him slowly and thoroughly. Mulder was quiet and accepting under him, and Skinner was relieved. He had to beat him severely the first time to get him tied down and quiet, but he'd never wanted that. They ordered him to rape Mulder, but they hadn't specified a beating as well, and he was glad he'd found a way to subdue him painlessly this time. This time, he thought to himself. God. It had been unthinkable the first time, and they had liked the results so much, or maybe, maybe, the results hadn't quite been what they wanted, that they ordered him to do it again.

He knew it had shaken Mulder badly, being raped. But it hadn't broken him, oh, no. Skinner smiled to himself. No, it hadn't come anywhere near breaking him. He still did his work, pursuing those men. Skinner had tried to refuse. He wanted no part of hurting an innocent man, one of his agents, a man he wanted to call friend or even, dare he think it, lover? Now that would never happen. He had bowed to their blackmail the first time and regretted it. Now here he was again, hurting this man again. He had to find a way to neutralize their threat. He was trying. He had been trying, looking for a way, ever since that first attack. He'd hoped that he'd find it before they demanded more, but it hadn't happened yet.

So they had ordered him to rape Mulder again, and he had no choice but to agree. And here he was, with his cock buried deep in the man's ass, fucking him. He was just grateful that Mulder had decided not to struggle or resist. The more relaxed he was, the less it would hurt him.

Finally Skinner gave one last, deep thrust and grunted, spurting his hot semen deep inside the younger man's body. He slowly pulled out and untied one of Mulder's hands, then he grabbed his clothes and left the room, leaving the man his privacy. He cleaned himself off and pulled on his clothes, then entered the kitchen, beginning to make coffee. He'd taken Mulder's gun, and he knew he could take the younger man in a fight, so he felt reasonably secure.

Mulder felt Skinner's weight leave the bed, the rustle of clothing, and the soft click of the door closing. He sighed and went about freeing himself. He felt the blackness trying to claim him, but he had something he had to do first. Yes. He sat up to untie his ankles and felt the warm stickiness of semen and lube between his buttocks and the ache in his ass, but it didn't mean anything to him. He had a job to do, something that would make it all go away.

He grabbed his penknife from his nightstand and made his way to the bathroom. He spared a brief thought for Scully, wishing he were stronger, for her, but he wasn't. He knew what he was about to do would hurt her, but he couldn't afford to let that stop him. The pain was overwhelming, and he just couldn't take it anymore.

Skinner heard the shower start, and he took a deep breath. This wasn't going to be easy. He'd thought the first time was difficult. Now he'd done it again. Shit. He'd just about promised the man he could trust him, and now he'd hurt him again. Skinner had just never imagined that they'd order him to do it again.

The coffee was done, and he poured himself a cup, waiting for Mulder. The water didn't stop, though, and gradually, Skinner got worried. He knew it was common for rape victims to need to get clean after an attack, but...Mulder was taking too long. He wanted to go in there, but he knew Mulder wouldn't appreciate it. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer.

He quietly opened the bedroom door and entered the room. He knocked on the bathroom door. "Mulder? I need to talk to you. I won't...I won't touch you again, you have my word. Mulder?" There was no answer.

He was really worried now. "Mulder?" Shit, he mumbled to himself. The man's really going to love this. He pulled out his small kit of locksmith tools and set to work. A few minutes later, the lock clicked, and he slowly opened the door. "Mulder, I'm coming in unless you talk to me." There was no answer.

He pushed into the small bathroom, eyeing the dark shower curtain. "Mulder?" He took the edge of the curtain and pushed it back and his breath left him in a low, pained groan.

Mulder lay back in the tub, his head resting on the rim, his eyes closed, his face composed and pale. His left wrist lay cradled in his lap, and blood from the gaping wound there trailed down his body to swirl down the drain with the now cold water.

Skinner shut the water off and frantically grabbed a washcloth, wrapping it tight around Mulder's wrist. He checked the other one, relieved to find it whole. Mulder was breathing; it was slow and labored, but it was there. His bare skin was icy. A stray thought wondered if that had kept him alive. He dried the man off as best he could without moving him too much, then gently gathered him up in his arms and carried him to the bed.

He laid him down and covered him warmly, leaving only his left arm and face above the blankets. The makeshift bandage was slowly turning red, and Skinner was scared.

He sat on the edge of the bed, watching the stain grow. If he called ambulance or took him to the hospital, Mulder's career would effectively be over. But if he didn't...could he let the man die in front of his eyes? Maybe it wasn't that serious. The bleeding seemed to be slowing, and Mulder was still breathing. He could still call Scully. Sure. Call the woman that threatened to kill him if he ever came near Mulder again. He thought another rape would probably qualify there. No, it wouldn't be a good idea to call Scully, at least not unless it looked like Mulder was getting worse. He'd take care of Mulder, and when he was ready, he'd tell him everything and leave the rest up to him. Mulder deserved that.

Skinner looked at Mulder's pale face and knew that he could never make this right. He had thought that the man was doing O.K. He'd been acting the same as ever, doing his job, not backing off from anyone or anything. Skinner never would have guessed that he was this close to the edge.

He closed his eyes, resting his head on his hands. He'd driven this man to kill himself. Walter Skinner, Mulder's boss, had done what all his enemies couldn't. He'd broken him. God. Please.

He knew now that he'd been fooling himself. He had blinded himself to what he'd done because he couldn't have done it otherwise, and he had to do it. He had no other choice. Had he? He scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to think. What could he do to help this man that he'd hurt so badly? He tried to put himself in Mulder's place, and his stomach clenched, rebelling at the thought. In Mulder's place, he knew that the only thing that he'd want would be his attacker's death, preferably after agonizing long torture. He remembered what he'd told Mulder earlier, to relax, that it would be all right. He remembered how Mulder had felt under him, slack and unresisting, and he remembered thinking that he was glad he hadn't had to hurt the man this time. Skinner gasped for breath, drowning in his regret. He was no better than they were.

He sat there, remembering what he'd done, thinking of what he needed to do next. He didn't move, his body aching then falling numb as the hours passed, and he waited for Mulder to wake.

End of part 2

 

* * *

 

TRUST 3  
By Tesa  
  
DATE: April 29, 2000  
RATING: NC-17  
CATEGORY: SLASH, RAPE aftermath, M/SK, Explicit m/m sex  
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television. This is a not-for-profit fictional excursion. Thank you very much.  
SUMMARY: Mulder gets the answers he was looking for and faces his fear with Skinner's help  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.  
ARCHIVE: Yes  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Comments and constructive criticism greatly appreciated.

* * *

Trust 3  
by Tesa

Mulder woke slowly, his body heavy and lethargic. His mind wandered from subject to subject aimlessly. He knew there was something important waiting for him to acknowledge, but he couldn't grab on to it. He went to roll from his back to his side and sudden pain flared throughout his body, concentrating in his wrist and ass. Memory returned, and with it the strong feeling that he wasn't alone. He was so tired, too tired to fight anymore. He had tried to escape, but apparently it hadn't worked. Well, if there was one thing he could do, it was endure. He would let the man do whatever he wanted, and sooner or later, he'd go away and leave him alone. It wouldn't take long. Just a few minutes alone, and Mulder could fix his earlier mistake. He had thought that one wrist would suffice. He'd do better next time. His plan made, he opened his eyes, calm and relaxed.

Mulder opened his eyes to see Walter Skinner sitting very close to him on the bed. Skinner's face was pale and drawn, his head down. He was staring at his hands. Mulder knew he should be afraid or angry but he just couldn't seem to touch those feelings. He knew they were there, ready to tear him apart, but they were out of reach, for now, anyway. Thank God. He was much too exhausted to deal with that. He studied Skinner's face, wondering idly what was going on behind it. He wondered if Skinner had plans to rape him again. He wouldn't be able to stop the man, whatever he chose to do. He just wasn't strong enough or skilled enough. He could only endure and wait for the chance he knew would come.

"Can..." Mulder cleared his throat. "Can I have some water?"

Skinner's head jerked up, and he started down at Mulder, a strange look on his face. He took a deep breath. "Sure. I'll be back in a minute." He rose and left the room and was back in seconds, sitting next to Mulder again, handing him the glass.

Mulder pulled himself up against the headboard and sipped at the water, enjoying the feel of it sliding down his throat. He kept his eyes down, not wanting to see Skinner. The man was too close.

"Mulder." Skinner spoke to the downturned head and waited for it to rise.

Mulder finally raised his head. He didn't want to, but he knew Skinner, and the man wouldn't give in first. He lifted his head, but he still wouldn't meet Skinner's eyes. He couldn't. He rested his gaze on the man's mouth, waiting for his next words.

Skinner knew it wasn't going to get any better than this, at least, not anytime soon. He'd take what he could get. "Mulder, I'm sorry. I won't...I'll never do that again. I give you my word." His voice was low and strained. He wanted Mulder to believe him, but knew he had every right not to.

Mulder was silent, thinking that Skinner couldn't even say the word. He raped me, twice, and he can't even say the word! He wanted to yell that aloud, but he didn't. He might have been strangely removed from this situation and his feelings, but he wasn't that fearless.

"You asked me why, at the diner, and I didn't answer you. I thought that I couldn't. I thought that...it would be safer, for you, for me, for...others if I didn't. But I also thought that...it would never happen again. Then they ordered me to do it again. And I did. I raped you again." Skinner lifted his head to meet Mulder's eyes.

"I...have a son."

Mulder felt the jolt of that announcement spread throughout his mind like shockwaves. Skinner had a son? Skinner had a son. Mulder took in that simple statement, and he knew what would drive Skinner to rape him. And it was right. He was right. There had been a reason, a good reason. Some deep internal knot finally started to relax, and he began to believe he could make it after all.

Skinner saw the comprehension in Mulder's face. He saw the fatally tense muscles in the other man's body begin to relax, and he saw the acceptance fill his eyes. And as Mulder came back to life in front of his eyes, he felt an emotional storm overtaking him. All he had to do was speak one sentence and this man that he had hurt so badly understood. He turned his face away, trying to hold onto his control. He couldn't do it. His body trembled and he gasped for air, biting back the groans that tried to escape.

Mulder had the insane urge to comfort Skinner, and he marveled at his own self-destructive tendencies. Here was a man who had beaten and raped him-twice!-and he wanted to make him feel better?! He took a deep breath and let it out in a long, slow sigh. It helped. Seeing Skinner vulnerable, seeing that it had cost him to do what he had, that helped too. It made him feel a little more in control, a little bit more able to deal with what had happened and what was to come. He waited patiently for Skinner to regain his composure.

Finally Skinner was able to face Mulder again, his face tired and pale, his eyes stark with knowledge and pain. They weren't done yet. He had to tell Mulder the rest. "My son...Scott...lives with his mother in California. He's fourteen. A little over a month ago, his mother called me, told me he'd been kidnapped. They told her not to call the police, or they'd kill him. They told her to call me, to tell me they'd be in touch."

"Cancerman called a couple of days later. He wanted a meeting. I went. He wanted you...disabled. He wanted you cut off from any support-personally, or professionally. He ordered me to rape you. He was hoping you'd break, or if not, then kill me or get me arrested or maybe do anything to get transferred away from me and, by extension, the X-files. I refused, of course. I...it sounds corny, Mulder, but I would have died before hurting you that way. Then he said that if I didn't do it, he would have his men rape my son." Skinner's voice trembled. "He showed me a polaroid of Scott holding the previous day's newspaper. He was naked, Mulder."

Skinner looked up at Mulder, giving him a wry little smile. "But you didn't do any of the things he wanted you to do. You held it together. You kept going to work. You didn't transfer out. It must have driven him up the wall. So he ordered me to do it again."

"I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm sorry that I hurt you...raped you. Please believe that I...have always respected and admired you. You are one of the strongest and most courageous men I have ever known. You are a brilliant criminal profiler and investigator, and a great asset to the Bureau. Personally, I...I'm glad to know you, and I would have liked to have been your friend. I know that probably means nothing to you now, but I want you to know how much I value who you are and what you've done, both in your life and in the Bureau."

Skinner swallowed hard and continued, "When I saw...what you tried to do...I knew that I couldn't give your life for my son's. Mulder, I really...I didn't know...." He stopped and let out a deep breath. "I thought that you were handling it. I thought that you could handle it. I...this time, I was glad that I'd found a way to do it without having to beat you, hurt you too much. I was lying to myself, I guess. I told myself that if I didn't have to beat you, it really wasn't all that bad, what I did. I'm sorry, Mulder."

It was a lot to assimilate, all at once. Too much, really. Mulder couldn't deal with it, not here and now, with this man sitting in front of him. He carefully boxed it all up in his mind and pushed the box into a very dark mental corner. Deal with the most important thing first. Skinner's fourteen year old son was in danger. He could deal with that, if not all the rest of it.

"Do you have the picture?"

Skinner blinked. Picture?

"Scott's picture?"

Skinner blinked again. The question was so far from what he'd been thinking about that it took him a minute to catch up. "No. He showed me, but he wouldn't give it to me."

"Damn. Did he tell you anything at all about where he's being held or who's holding him, or when you can expect to get him back?"

Where was he going with this, Skinner wondered, so he asked. "What are you up to, Mulder?"

"I'm going to help you find your son, and we're going to find some way to make sure he's never endangered again, that's what I'm up to. I don't appreciate a child being threatened over me, and I sure as hell don't want it to happen again." Mulder stopped. He didn't know what to call the other man anymore. 'Sir' would stick in his throat, and 'Skinner' seemed a little blunt for the man who was still his boss, after all.

Fuck it. "Sir, if you'll excuse me, I'll get dressed, and we'll get going."

Skinner took a deep breath and nodded. "All right, Mulder." He finally understood what was going on. Mulder was going to ignore it. Skinner knew that couldn't last for long, but if that's what the man needed, then all right. He could ignore it, too. For a while. For as long as it took to find his son and get him back. Then they would have to deal with it. For both their sakes.

*********************************************************

Mulder told Scully what Skinner had told him, carefully avoiding the situation that had brought on the confession. He really didn't want to go there with Scully. Or with anyone, for that matter. Remembering what had happened, remembering that Skinner had raped him again and that he had tried to commit suicide as a result, it was something he desperately wanted to forget. Knowing that he was so vulnerable, so defenseless that he couldn't stop it from happening again, even on guard as he was, it was unbearable. And trying to kill himself, God, that was failure on top of failure. Not only had he given in to despair, he'd failed at that act, too. Not that he was sorry for that. He didn't really want to die. He just didn't want to be Mulder anymore. It was too hard to be that man. To be that victim, the guy who'd been fucked up the ass by his boss, twice. All right, that's enough, he told himself. We're not going there today. No.

The three of them spent all their time and effort trying to find Scott. They called all their various contacts, started all their enquiries, bent all their energies to their goal. The days passed and their tension grew. They knew they had to find the boy soon. They worked together carefully, politely, united in a common goal, ignoring the unresolved emotions that felt heavy in the air. Skinner had his fear and worry for his son and his guilt and concern for Mulder. Scully had her concern for an innocent boy and her anger at Skinner for what he'd done to her partner and her real worry about Mulder. She knew he couldn't take this forever. Mulder had his concern for the boy; he knew what they were capable of, and he hoped that his pain had bought the boy some respite. He also had his rage and fear at both Cancerman for what he had ordered and Skinner for carrying it out. He worried about Scully, too. He knew she was worried about him, but he couldn't fix that, either. Something had to give, soon.

Something did. Actually, a couple of somethings did. First, the Lone Gunmen found a lead to the boy. Second, Skinner got a phone call.

The three of them met nightly at the Gunmen's place to compare notes and formulate strategy. That night they listened to the

Gunmen's lead and made their plan. Skinner was strangely silent throughout. Mulder kept looking over at him periodically, not liking this uncharacteristic behavior, especially since it seemed as though they would be able to find Scott soon. He met Scully's eyes, acknowledging her concern as well. He turned to Skinner.

"Sir?"

Skinner jumped, then straightened and met Mulder's eyes. "Yes, Mulder. I need to talk to you, privately." He stood up, feeling all their eyes on him, and gestured toward the door.

Mulder nodded and silently followed him into the next room. They sat down, Mulder on the couch, Skinner in the armchair. Skinner was silent, his head down. Mulder took a deep breath. This was looking bad. "Sir?"

Skinner looked up, meeting his agent's scared eyes. He reached into his pocket and brought out a miniature recorder. He set it on the table and pressed play, the volume set low.

They listened in silence to the taped phone conversation between Skinner and Cancerman that had taken place earlier that afternoon. As the conversation went on, Mulder's head dropped down and his fists clenched, his heart beating fast and hard. Shit. He couldn't take this. He couldn't. Oh, God. They were so close. Another day or two and the boy would be safe, and so would he. But they didn't have another day or two. Shit.

He kept his head down, not wanting to see Skinner yet. O.K. They were serious this time. They had ordered Skinner to rape him again and beat him severely enough to put him in the hospital. Mulder shuddered. The beating he could take, he knew that. He wasn't wild about that, but he'd been beaten before, and he knew how to handle it. He didn't know how to handle getting raped again. They had told Skinner to make it brutal and obvious. They had told Skinner to fuck him, then shove a police baton up his ass and leave it there for the hospital to find. Oh, God. Please. His shoulders hunched, Mulder pulled in on himself. He couldn't do this.

Skinner watched Mulder fold up, and he closed his eyes momentarily. He came to a decision and moved over next to Mulder. He put his arms around him and held on through the automatic resistance, the resigned surrender, and the continuous shudders. He held him and whispered to him, "It's all right, Mulder, it's all right. I won't do it. I won't hurt you like that. I promise. I won't do it. It's all right."

Mulder gradually calmed, and Skinner's low reassurances penetrated his consciousness. He felt Skinner's strong arms around him, his body hard and solid against his back, and he felt safe. Wasn't that about ridiculous? He felt safe in the arms of the man that had beaten and raped him and was going to do it again. Oh, yeah. He believed Skinner when he said he wouldn't hurt him again. It was enough. It was enough that Skinner was willing to risk his son's life and safety for Mulder's sanity. Mulder knew he couldn't allow it, though. Knowing that it was his choice, Mulder could face what Cancerman had ordered. Knowing that Skinner would do this only with his permission gave Mulder the courage to give it to him. Now he just had to tell him.

"O.K. Scully and the guys can run down that lead while we go back to my place and take care of business. After...you can take me to the hospital, tell them you were stopping by my place...hmmm...for some information, something you'd forgotten to ask at work? And you found me like that. How's it sound?"

Skinner inhaled sharply in surprise. He had known he couldn't hurt this man deliberately again, not even at the cost of his son's life. He hadn't ever dreamed that Mulder would volunteer, not after he'd seen how Mulder had reacted to what had been done to him. His arms tightened involuntarily, and he bent his head down to press it against Mulder's shoulder. He should have known, though. From everything he knew about Mulder, he should have known that the man wouldn't allow an innocent to suffer for his sake. "Thank you, Mulder."

Mulder nodded, not fighting Skinner's arms around him. It still felt good. Jeez, was he hard up, or what? He felt the fear rising, trying to overwhelm him, but the hard arms around him held it back. It was going to be bad, but Skinner would take care of him. Now they just had to go explain it all to Scully and the guys. And then he had to get through the next few hours. And then, when the boy was safe, he had to face the rest of it. All right, that's enough, he told himself. Once step at a time, Mulder. Don't borrow trouble, you've already got enough as it is.

He closed his eyes, savoring the overwhelming pleasure of being held by another person. He ignored everything that told him it was wrong and deviant for him to take pleasure from this man, and he let the warmth and the living presence of another fill him with strength and serenity. He was going to need it.

End of part 3

 

* * *

 

TRUST 4  
By Tesa  
  
DATE: May 20, 2000  
RATING: NC-17  
CATEGORY: SLASH, M/SK, MulderTorture, Explicit m/m sex  
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television. This is a not-for-profit fictional excursion. Thank you very much.  
SUMMARY: Mulder and Skinner go through an ordeal.  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.  
ARCHIVE: Yes  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Comments and constructive criticism greatly appreciated.

* * *

Trust 4  
by Tesa

Mulder led Skinner into his apartment, turning to switch on the lights before moving deeper into the room, standing there uncertainly as Skinner slowly followed him and closed the door quietly behind him. The lock clicked loudly in the silence.

His eyes on the floor, Mulder swallowed, his heart beating so fast and hard he felt sure the other man could hear it from across the room. His breath came quickly, and he trembled, anxiety a living thing in his belly. He had agreed to this, he told himself. He was doing it to spare a child. The beating that was coming-well, it would be bad enough. Skinner was a big, strong man, as he had good reason to know. He could take it, he knew that, but what came next...God. Cancerman had ordered Skinner to rape him again, to make it violent and brutal. He wanted Mulder put in the hospital with injuries that were severe enough to keep him there for awhile and that were obviously a result of a sexual assault. He meant everyone to know that Mulder had been beaten and raped, and he intended it to disable his enemy, the longer, the better.

"Sit down, Mulder. I think we'd better talk." Skinner didn't move from his place near the door.

Mulder jerked a quick glance at him, then returned his gaze to the floor. It was safer that way. He could almost pretend this wasn't going to happen. Skinner was right, though. They did need to talk. He needed to talk, to discuss what they were going to do, and when, to see it in his head before they began. He took a few steps and sank down onto the couch, thankful for the support. Finally he grabbed onto his courage with both hands and looked up at Skinner.

Skinner moved slowly further into the room and carefully sat in the armchair sitting at a right angle to the couch. He watched Mulder with concern. He had already hurt this man so much, so unforgiveably. He didn't want to hurt him again. He didn't want to, but his son's life and safety depended on him doing it. And Mulder had agreed. Skinner closed his eyes briefly. He wished it could be him. He would take this for his son, for Mulder. But he wasn't the threat, Mulder was. And so Mulder would suffer.

"Do you have any ideas, Mulder? What are we going to do?"

Mulder closed his eyes and deliberately took a deep breath then slowly released it, getting a grip on his fear. His trembling diminished and finally stopped. He was in control. He was. He opened his eyes. "Oddly enough, I've thought about that, sir."

Skinner's mouth twitched in what could have been a smile in other circumstances. Of course, Mulder had thought about it.

"The hospital...they're going to be looking for semen in my anus. Cancerman expects them to find it." Mulder kept his eyes on Skinner's face.

Skinner nodded. It was true. Cancerman had ordered him to rape Mulder, then sodomize him with a police baton, leaving it in him for the hospital to find. Being raped by a man was meant to scar him psychologically. Being raped with an object was meant to hurt him physically, and to be an outward sign of what had been done to him, a sign for everyone to see.

"So, I thought it would be best...easiest if you...fucked me first. If you...if I tried to relax as much as possible, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Then...if we went on to the beating, maybe you could give me a couple of good head shots, put me out, then...finish it. What do you think?"

"You don't want me to try to put you out first, then take care of the rest?" Skinner asked softly.

Mulder swallowed again. "I thought about that. I really did. But you know, those head shots, well, we can't rely on that to keep me under. I can't rely on it, anyway. I'd rather not...regain consciousness in the middle of being fucked. I'd rather...know what was going on, be able to...talk to you...have some kind of control, even if it's...an illusion. Now you're going to ask, what about the last...act? Well, I hope...I hope I'm well and truly out, and I hope you can get it done with one shove, sir, and I'll be on my way to the hospital. But in any case, I...couldn't...face that conscious, if I have any chance at all to be unconscious. So with that, I'll take my chances."

Skinner was silent for a moment, unable to speak. He took a deep breath. "All right, Mulder. We can do that. Are you ready?"

Mulder nodded slightly and rose to his feet. He led Skinner into his bedroom and stood facing the bed, his back still to the door, and Skinner. His body was tense and he felt off balance, awkward. His fear was fading slightly now that he knew what was going to happen. He felt large hands come down on his shoulders, and he jumped, his heart racing again, a surprised yelp escaping him.

"Relax, Mulder. Please." Skinner paused a moment, his hands gently rubbing the knots in the man's shoulders. Mulder was as tense as a drawn bow. He stepped closer, pressing his body against Mulder's back from neck to knees, and he wrapped his arms around the man, holding him gently but firmly through the reflexive struggle.

Mulder forced himself to stop. He couldn't win against the bigger man, and it wouldn't do him any good, anyway. He stood still, panting, his head hanging. Skinner didn't move, and gradually Mulder began to notice the warmth of the other man behind him, the strength of the arms that held him. It was insane. He remembered the terror, agony, and shame of being attacked and raped by this man, but somehow it seemed disconnected, like it had happened to someone else. Come on, Mulder, you know what's going on. You are a psychologist, after all. The mind is an amazing thing, and its defenses a wonder to behold.

He'd been alone for so long. He had Scully. He had the Lone Gunmen. He had a couple acquaintances, contacts he talked to for information. But there hadn't been anyone to hold him in a long, long time. He'd missed that. The human warmth, the closeness, the touch of another person. Humans needed to be touched, it was part of their nature, essential to their well being, the psychologist in him knew. He'd been starved, and it amazed him that even this could feel good to him, but it did. Oh, it did.

Mulder felt the rumble of Skinner's voice through his body. "You've never had a male lover."

It was a statement, but he answered it. "No." He felt the sigh.

"I need you to get undressed." Skinner spoke softly.

Mulder's breath hitched and he nodded.

He was slowly released, and Skinner stepped back, beginning to remove his own clothing. Mulder hesitated only a moment before following suit. He kept his back turned still, pulling off his clothes and dropping them randomly until he was naked, cold, and feeling very, very vulnerable.

"Get on the bed, Mulder. On your back," Skinner ordered.

Mulder's jaw clenched, but he did what he was told. He lay stiffly, waiting. He carefully kept from looking at the other man standing naked beside the bed. He felt the bed shift under Skinner's weight as he carefully lay down next to Mulder, resting on his side. One hand came to rest on his chest and Mulder jumped again, but he didn't otherwise respond.

"Mulder. Look at me."

Mulder slowly turned his head, meeting Skinner's warm brown eyes.

"Do you find my touch repulsive? If you do, I'll get this over with as quickly as possible. It'll hurt, but if you can't stand to be touched by me, then I won't be able to make it any easier. If it's okay, though, I'd like to touch you until you relax a little. Can I do that, Mulder? Can I touch you?"

Mulder looked away. This was hard. His pride wanted him to say do it and get it over with. But he remembered what it had been like before. And Skinner's touch wasn't repulsive. If he was honest with himself, he'd have to admit that it felt good, that he...wanted...Skinner to touch him. He still didn't want to get fucked, but....

"Yes." It was all he could say, still not looking at Skinner.

Skinners big hand shifted slowly, gently skimming his chest, running over his shoulder, down his arm to his hand, tracing muscles that were drawn tight and trembling. It felt...weird. Mulder had never felt a man's hand on him, like this, caressing. He was familiar with violence at a man's hand, not this, not...gentleness.

"Close your eyes, Mulder," Skinner requested softly.

Mulder took a deep breath and complied. He was tense with waiting. He felt Skinner's hand continue its' journey, slowly mapping the contours of his body, leaving nothing out. Light, skimming touches across nipples and throat and genitals drew starts of surprise from him, but the hand never stopped. Gradually Mulder relaxed. There was nothing to fear here. Skinner's hand settled on his flaccid cock and began to gently stroke. Mulder was astonished at the beginnings of arousal and his eyes popped open, his mouth working to push out the refusal.

"Mulder, it's all right. Please. This will make it easier for both of us." Skinner's voice was soft and knowledgeable, and he continued his caresses.

Mulder closed his mouth and shut his eyes again, knowing the man was right. There was no shame in getting hard with a man touching his cock. Right? It was purely a physical reaction, that's all. Why shouldn't he get what he could out of this whole thing? But then he couldn't picture his hard-on staying while he was being fucked, though.

It didn't take long until he was fully erect, and that was when Skinner shifted over him, gently pushing his legs apart and settling between them. Mulder kept his eyes closed, trying to maintain the peace he'd reached while his heart picked up speed. He heard the sounds of Skinner preparing himself, then he felt his legs lifted and spread.

"Hold your legs up for a minute, Mulder. I want to see if I can stretch you a bit."

Mulder grabbed his legs obediently still keeping his eyes shut. He felt an intrusion into his ass as Skinner tried to open him up with his finger, and he tried to cooperate, but the fear was creeping up on him again. He remembered the pain of the other two times, and his body was telling him no way was it allowing anything up there again. Skinner kept trying, but they didn't have the time Mulder needed, and he finally gave up, sighing heavily. He'd hoped to make it easier for the younger man, but apparently it wasn't going to happen.

"Mulder, I'm going to penetrate you now, all right?"

Mulder swallowed, noticing absently that he'd been right. He'd lost his erection. He forced himself to say the words, to give permission. "Do it." He felt the blunt pressure of the head of Skinner's cock against his asshole, then the burning pain as Skinner slowly pushed himself inside the younger man. Mulder forced himself to breathe evenly, concentrating on relaxing his muscles, allowing this penetration. Finally Skinner stopped, his cock fully sheathed in Mulder's ass. He lifted Mulder's legs over his shoulders and spoke.

"Mulder, look at me now." He waited until Mulder met his level gaze with eyes filled with pain, fear, and shame.

"Mulder, listen to me. My cock is buried in your ass. Can you feel it?"

Mulder laugh was low and raw. "Yeah, I can feel it." What was Skinner up to?

"Good. I'm the only man that's ever had his cock inside you, aren't I?"

"You know you are."

"Yes. Feel me inside you, Mulder. Feel me filling you up with my hard, hot cock. Feel me lying on top of you. I'm bigger than you are, aren't I?"

"Yes." It was a whisper.

"I'm heavier than you are. I'm stronger than you are. I can beat you in a fight, can't I, Mulder?"

"Yes." Mulder felt the size and the weight and the sheer strength of the man lying on top of him, his cock penetrating him. Skinner was telling the truth, and Mulder admitted it.

Slowly Mulder began to glimpse what Skinner was getting at. There was nothing he could do. Whatever Skinner was going to do, whatever he wanted to do, Mulder couldn't stop it. He couldn't change it. He just had to endure it. He had to surrender and just make it through the next few hours, and it would be over. There was a curious sense of freedom, of release in that thought. Let go. Let Skinner do what he had to do. Lie back and take it.

Skinner felt the man under him begin to relax and he took a deep, relieved breath. He really didn't want to hurt this man any more than he had to, to carry out Cancerman's orders. He let his breath out in a long, slow sigh. He didn't want to hurt him, but he was, and it felt so good. God, the feel of Mulder's tight ass grabbing his cock...and he felt guilty because it felt so good to him. It was wrong to take such pleasure in another man's pain, wasn't it? But it wasn't Mulder's pain that he enjoyed, he told himself. It was his body. It was the man himself. He'd had fantasies of this exact situation for years, and now it was happening. Yes, he'd raped Mulder before, but that's what it had been-rape. His body had taken the pleasure it needed to complete the act, but this-this was different. Even if Mulder wasn't enjoying it as he was, he was allowing it, and that made all the difference.

"Mulder, I'm going to start fucking you now." He didn't wait for Mulder's permission this time, and he slowly withdrew nearly his entire length before slowly surging into him again.

Mulder groaned at the feeling of Skinner filling him yet again, pushing deep into his tender flesh. The pain was sharp at first, but as Skinner's cock slowly stretched him, it faded down to a general ache, an odd discomfort at feeling himself invaded like that.

He opened his eyes, looking at the man above him. Skinner had his arms braced on either side of Mulder, and the muscles of his arms and chest and belly rhythmically flexed and relaxed as he fucked Mulder's ass. His face was serious, his eyes intent as he met Mulder's gaze. The unreality of the situation struck Mulder. Here he was, his legs in the air, getting fucked up the ass by his boss. His boss's cock was even now driving deep into his asshole. It didn't really hurt much anymore. It was uncomfortable. It was one of the most uncomfortably intimate acts he'd ever been involved with. Even making love with a woman had never left him feeling this vulnerable, this open to another person.

Finally Skinner thrust one last time, and, holding himself as deep inside Mulder as he could, he came, groaning in pleasure, spurting his hot semen into Mulder's ass. Mulder felt the sudden warmth and he grimaced. It didn't hurt, and it wasn't even unpleasant, but he felt that he ought to be more disturbed about it than he was.

Skinner sighed and gently pulled out of Mulder, then made his way to the bathroom, leaving Mulder lying on the bed, legs still splayed wide open.

Mulder sighed too. Part one was done. He'd been well and truly fucked. Part two was coming up. Time to take his beating. Somehow his feelings about those things had switched. Earlier he had believed getting fucked was going to be the harder to take. Now he knew better. Skinner had come through for him. It hadn't been a piece of cake, but it had been a hell of a lot better than when he'd been raped. Now he had to stand up to the man's fists. God, the very thought gave him a hollow feeling in his belly. Skinner was a big, strong man. Shit.

Skinner came out of the bathroom and slowly pulled on his clothes, not looking at Mulder. Mulder watched him closely, trying to figure out what was going through his head. "Sir?"

The big man's head came up. "I'm sorry, Mulder."

"For what?" Mulder was bewildered. He thought they'd already covered all of this.

"For...coming. For enjoying it." The words came slowly, harshly.

Mulder was suddenly irritated. "You weren't worried about that when you raped me!"

Skinner flinched, but he still met Mulder's gaze. "I was. I just couldn't say it. I can now. I'm sorry that my pleasure came at the expense of your pain."

Mulder was silent for a moment, figuring out how to say what he needed to say. "I don't want to get into the past right now. But I can say that...this time, I don't begrudge you your pleasure. We both know why this is happening, and it isn't our choice. So...take what you can, sir." And as he said the words, he was almost surprised to find them true. He didn't mind that Skinner had enjoyed it. In fact, it...pleased him, in a way. He got off the bed, seeing that Skinner was dressed and ready, and he moved over to the doorway. Turning to face the bigger man, he stood in the doorway and reached up to grab hold of the frame.

Skinner just looked at him for a long moment, but he didn't reply. There was no need. They both knew what had to happen now. He closed his eyes briefly, then moved to stand in front of Mulder. Drawing back his fist, he deliberately stopped thinking and started moving.

It didn't take long. Skinner knew how to inflict the most damage in the least amount of time, taking care to hit the face enough to bruise and cut, but not enough to seriously injure. He did the same to the rest of Mulder, carefully placing the blows to maximize their effects while minimizing truly serious injuries. Mulder was going to have a lot of soft tissue damage, bruising and the like and maybe a few cracked ribs, but nothing permanent or dangerous. He made sure of that. The beating was harsh and mostly silent, with only the sound of flesh on flesh, Skinner's soft grunts of effort, and Mulder's low groans of pain. Mulder had held onto the door frame for a while, but eventually he couldn't stand any longer, and Skinner caught him with one arm. He held him up as he beat him, and then he sent several hard punches to Mulder's head, putting him out, finally.

Skinner picked him up and carried him into the bedroom again. He gently laid him face down and grabbed some pillows to prop up his hips so he could see. He spread Mulder's legs wide and went to get the baton. It was just a moment before he returned. He coated the end of the baton with lots of lube and spreading Mulder's buttocks with one hand, he gently pressed the baton into the unconscious man. The size of the baton he'd picked up was only a little bit larger than his cock, so he hoped that the prolonged fucking he'd given Mulder earlier would have stretched him out enough to allow him to take this with a minimum of damage. There would be some, of course, but hopefully only enough to give the appearance of a brutal rape, and not enough to incapacitate or kill him.

As gently as he could, Skinner continued to force the baton deeper into Mulder. When he estimated Mulder had taken roughly six to eight inches, he stopped and, picking up the still unconscious man, he headed for the door. That was enough. He'd done everything he'd been ordered to do. He was going to get Mulder to the hospital before he woke up. And then he was going to find his son. And then Cancerman was going to pay.

End of part 4

 

* * *

 

TRUST 5  
By Tesa  
  
DATE: July 15, 2000  
RATING: NC-17  
CATEGORY: SLASH, M/SK, MulderTorture, m/m sexual situations  
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television. This is a not-for-profit fictional excursion. Thank you very much.  
SUMMARY: Mulder begins his recovery from rape  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.  
ARCHIVE: Yes  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Comments and constructive criticism greatly appreciated.

* * *

Trust 5  
by Tesa

The man in the bed opened his eyes, confused. Where was he? What had happened to him? His gaze slowly tracked over the room-white walls, a large door with a handle, not a knob, a single empty chair by his bed, an...I.V. stand. A hospital. He was in the hospital. Again. He was still confused, his thoughts moving slowly. He didn't feel sick. He couldn't feel any pain. He took a deep breath, feeling an echo of a distant, muffled ache. Then it hit him, the knowledge rolling over him like a wave. Oh, yeah. He remembered. Even knowing where to look for the pain now, he still couldn't feel it. He must be getting some good stuff. Oh, yeah. Gimme more, he thought.

The door opened and Mulder watched the big man enter the room and slowly sit down. He hadn't looked up yet, hadn't noticed that Mulder was awake yet.

Mulder studied Skinner. He looked tired and drawn. He wondered how long it had been since...scratch that. Don't go there. He wondered how long he'd been in the hospital. He wondered if they'd found Scott yet, if he was all right. God, he hoped so. For Skinner's sake, and his own.

He croaked, "Sir..."

Skinner's head came up with a jerk, and he met Mulder's eyes, relief lighting his own. "Mulder," he said wryly, "I think you've earned the right to call me Walter by now, if you want." His eyes traced Mulder's features, and his hand reached out to gently clasp his arm. He was gratified when Mulder didn't flinch or try to move away.

Mulder started to reach for a plastic cup on the table beside the bed, hoping for some water, when Skinner noticed and stopped him. "Let me, Mulder." He slid one hand under Mulder's head and lifted, holding the cup with a straw to Mulder's mouth with the other.

Mulder sipped gratefully, then pulled away. "Thanks."

"My pleasure." Skinner replaced the cup and reached out to hold Mulder's arm once again, needing the contact. This man had gone through so much, had been hurt so badly, and by him, for that matter. Skinner needed to touch the warm, living flesh to know that he was there, that he was alive, and to believe that he was going to be all right.

Mulder sighed and lay back, relaxing. It felt so good to just lie there, floating on the drugs he'd been given. He was a psychologist; he knew this was just the calm before the storm, but he was damn well going to enjoy it while it lasted. Skinner's presence next to him was large and somehow comforting, and his hand resting on his arm was warm and reassuring. God, he was messed up, Mulder thought to himself. Lying in a hospital bed, recovering from injuries dealt to him by this man, and he was happy. He was fucked, in more ways than the obvious.

"Sir...Walter, did the guys find Scott?"

Skinner smiled, and Mulder blinked. He couldn't remember ever seeing him smile before, and it was...amazing. The feeling confused him, and he set it aside to listen to the man's words.

"...and he was just where the Gunmen said he'd be. He's fine, Mulder. Scared, but they didn't touch him. Thank God...and you, Mulder." He looked into Mulder's eyes, his own dark and serious. "Thank you for protecting my son."

Mulder closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, remembering what he'd done to protect the boy, what he'd allowed Skinner to do to him, and what he hadn't. Push it away, Mulder, he told himself. Now's not the time. He opened his eyes again, and with great effort met Skinner's gaze. He nodded, not knowing what to say. "Where is he now?"

Skinner nodded toward the door. "In the waiting room with Scully. I didn't want to leave him alone, but I had to see you. I had to see that you were...all right. I didn't want you to wake up and think that I'd...forgotten about you."

Skinner took a deep breath and clasped his hands together on his knees. This was hard. He wasn't normally a man to talk about his feelings, but this wasn't a normal situation. Mulder needed to know what he was thinking, feeling. Mulder deserved to know.

"Mulder...I need you to know that...what you did...it's the bravest thing I've ever seen a man do."

"I know that...when I...raped you...and...beat you...against your will...it was wrong. I should have...told you what was going on. I should have trusted you. There's no excuse, really, for what I did. I can only say...I'm sorry, Mulder. I...regret...what I did. I hurt you, and I...forfeited any trust or friendship we might have had. And that hurts, because I...do like you, Mulder, and I...would have liked to have been your friend."

He paused. "No, that's not entirely accurate. I would have liked to have been your lover, Mulder. I...I've been attracted to you for a long time, but I was...afraid to do anything about it. I didn't know if you...were attracted to men. I was your boss. We work for the F.B.I. I could come up with all kinds of roadblocks, reasons not to say anything, not to do anything. I don't expect anything from you, Mulder. You don't have to tell me anything; you don't have to say anything, or do anything. I just wanted you to know the truth, and know that if there's anything that you need, anything that you want, that I can do for you, I will. I owe you, Mulder. I guess that's all that I wanted to say."

Mulder studied the man before him. So much had happened in such a short time. His emotions had been pushed and pulled and twisted inside out since the beginning. This man had entered his apartment, betrayed his trust, beaten him, and raped him. It had been fast and hard and ugly, and Mulder knew he hadn't even started to deal with that. He'd recovered enough to function, anyway, and kept going, with Scully's help, and then it had happened again. Skinner had drugged him, tied him down, and raped him again.

He hadn't been able to deal with that. The first attack had left him reeling on the edge, maintaining his balance moment by moment. The second attack shoved him off entirely. He'd tried to kill himself, not wanting to live with what had been done to him, with what he'd become. A victim.

And then Skinner had told him what was going on. His son was in danger. Mulder had grabbed at that lifeline, seeing it as a way to hold himself together, at least until Skinner's son was safe. He'd pushed his pain aside and concentrated his whole being on finding the boy. He hadn't allowed himself to stop, to think. He knew what was waiting for him if he did. Then Cancerman had ordered Skinner to beat and rape Mulder again. Apparently he hadn't been satisfied with the results the first two times.

Mulder had allowed it. He could do it, to save a child's life. He had gone with Skinner and cooperated in his own beating, his own...well, it hadn't exactly been rape, but what else could he call it? Fucking, he guessed.

Now here he was. Scott, Skinner's son, was free and safe. Skinner was sitting in front of him saying he was sorry, saying he wanted to be his lover. Mulder just couldn't handle it. Overwhelmed, he searched for a way out, a way to stop the avalanche of pain and fear and shame and confusion and need that was threatening to bury him. Then the thought that could save him came to mind.

"I need to see Scully."

Skinner hesitated then nodded. "I'll get her." He didn't move for a long moment, watching Mulder. He finally nodded again and left Mulder alone.

Alone, Mulder closed his eyes, struggling to maintain his hold on his emotions. He had pushed his feelings aside for so long, damming them up behind walls in order to be able to function. Now they were fighting to escape his control, and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold them back for long.

He heard the door open and the click of heels coming nearer. Even as mixed up as he was, he had to smile. She was his friend, his anchor, his strength.

"Mulder, I turn my back on you for a minute, and look what happens!" Scully scolded him gently. He looked bad. His face was pale and drawn. She had been busy with the Gunmen, trying to track down Scott while he'd sneaked off with Skinner. She'd seen his medical records. She understood, but she didn't have to like it. She worried about him.

Mulder smiled up at her, but couldn't come up with the expected quip. His smile faded and he dropped his eyes. Scully's hand came to rest on his own, and he covered it with the other. "Scully," he whispered, and his face crumpled.

Scully caught her breath at the sight of his pain. She hesitated a moment, not sure of how best to comfort him, then pulled down the side rail and climbed into the bed with him and held him. She put her arms around him as he shuddered and held on tight.

She held her best friend and silently cursed Walter Skinner and Cancerman and anyone and everyone who'd ever hurt this man. Mulder shook in her arms, but he wasn't crying. The hurt was too deep for that.

Skinner stood in the doorway, watching his two agents, terrible pain in his eyes. His heart ached, and there was a huge emptiness in his belly. He wanted nothing more than to go to Mulder, to hold him, to help him, and to love him, but he couldn't. He was the cause of this pain. Mulder couldn't bear to see him. Slowly he turned away. His son still needed him.

************************************************

Mulder fumbled with his keys awkwardly, trying to find the right one and fit it in. Scully stood patiently behind him, her arms full of his stuff. He'd finally been released from the hospital, and successfully fought with Scully over returning to his own apartment. He knew she was worried about him, but he needed to be alone, in his own place, with his own things around him. He needed to go to ground, so to speak, and lick his wounds. God, what a disgusting image, he thought wryly.

"Mulder?"

"I got it, Scully, just give me a minute." The lock finally gave way, and he opened the door. Pushing it wide, he led the way inside. Scully followed him, watching her partner carefully. He surveyed his spotless apartment with wide eyes. "Scully?"

"I cleaned your apartment last weekend, Mulder. Don't worry about it."

Mulder's throat tightened. It took him a minute to force out the word. "Thanks." He hadn't looked forward to seeing the mess he and Skinner had left of the apartment.

"No problem." She dropped his stuff down on the coffee table and surveyed him surreptitiously. "Are you going to be all right by yourself, Mulder? I can stay, if you want."

Mulder took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He knew she was concerned, just trying to help him, but he had to be alone to think. He wasn't used to so much socializing, and those days in the hospital had worn down his patience big time. "I need some time, Scully. You know me, too many people around for too long gives me hives." He said it with a small quirky smile.

"Boy do I know that, Mulder," she laughed. "All right, I'll leave you alone, but I want you to call me if you need anything, and I'll call you tomorrow morning to check on you. Don't argue, Mulder, it's better than me dropping by, isn't it?"

Mulder nodded. "It's a deal. Talk to you tomorrow." He shooed her gently out the door and closed it behind her, leaning his forehead against the door briefly. He took a deep breath and made his way into the bedroom, grabbing some sweats and underwear and heading for the shower. They had given him sponge baths at the hospital, but it just wasn't enough. He needed to be clean. A shower wasn't going to make him well, but it damn well couldn't hurt, and maybe it would make him feel better.

He stood under the hot water, letting his head drop down, his back to the water. The guys had come to see him briefly at the hospital, pretty much quick embarrassed hi's and how are you's, and Scully was a fixture, as always, but Skinner hadn't come back after the first day. Scully had told him that Scott was safely back home. He wondered what Skinner had done to ensure his future safety. Mulder knew Skinner wouldn't leave that to chance, wouldn't expose his son to danger again.

The hospital's rape counselor had been by to talk to him several times, but Mulder hadn't been able to say much to her. He knew he needed help, but the woman was just so...young and...earnest. No way could he see himself explaining everything to her. She had given him a card with the number for the city's Rape Crisis Center, telling him there were male counselors available, if that made him more comfortable. He'd taken the card. He was going to call. He was. Soon.

The cops had taken his report of being assaulted and raped by person or persons unknown, then found and taken to the hospital by his boss. They suspected he knew more than he was saying, but there was nothing they could do about it.

The story had been in the paper, of course. It was too good to pass by-F.B.I. agent beaten and raped in his own apartment. Mulder sighed. Just what he needed, a little more notoriety. Mostly he didn't care, but it was going to make it difficult at work. He didn't look forward to facing those guys-not the ones that hated him for his unconventional ways or for his success, and not the ones who just thought he was peculiar. 'Spooky' Mulder at it again, getting himself into trouble.

The water started to cool, and he hurriedly washed himself, going gently over the bruised bits, which was pretty much his whole body, he admitted. He got out and dressed quickly, not liking the feeling of vulnerability being naked brought him. His body still ached from the beating he'd taken, and his ass wasn't all that comfortable either, but the doctor had called him lucky for not getting torn open, considering what had been done to him.

Speaking of what had been done to him, what was he going to do about Walter Skinner? Mulder carefully check the security of his apartment, smiling at the new locks, one of the reasons he'd fumbled so much getting in. Scully was taking care of him. He carefully stretched out on his couch and clicked on the T.V.

Skinner had admitted that he wanted Mulder for a lover. He had said that he was sorry, that he owed Mulder. Jesus. What was Mulder supposed to do now? He'd been attracted to the man for a long time-who wouldn't be, for God's sake? The man was a tall, built like a tank, intelligent, strong, and he had the warmest brown eyes Mulder had ever seen. He had stood up for Mulder and Scully and the X-Files time after time. Mulder knew if it hadn't been for Skinner, the X-Files would be only a memory, and he'd be a profiler again, slowly driving himself insane. And he craved the big man's touch. Oh, yeah. Remembering his warm hand on Mulder's skin, or his strong arms encircling him, his solid presence that made him feel safe, Mulder knew he was seriously fucked up. Because he also remembered the feel of the man's hands around his throat, his body pressing him down, his cock hot and hard and driving into his ass. He remembered feeling the pain and the shame and the helplessness, the fury and weakness and despair, the hopelessness of being raped by Skinner.

Jesus, was he messed up.

He missed him.

End of part 5

 

* * *

 

TRUST 6  
By Tesa  
  
DATE: September 8, 2000  
RATING: NC-17  
CATEGORY: SLASH, M/SK MulderAngst, SkinnerAngst  
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television. This is a not-for-profit fictional excursion. Thank you very much.  
SUMMARY: Mulder begins to pick up the pieces and sees a light at the end of the tunnel  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.  
ARCHIVE: Yes  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Comments and constructive criticism greatly appreciated.

* * *

Trust 6  
by Tesa

"Mulder, how are you doing?" Scully asked him, warm concern filling her eyes.

"I'm O.K., Scully. The doc released me for work Monday."

"Are you ready?" Scully had invited her partner to lunch, figuring it was one way to keep tabs on him without being too obvious.

"Yeah, I'm going crazy at home all day."

"What about the Bureau psychiatrist?"

"I saw him today. He gave me the green light, with reservations, of course."

Scully met her partner's eyes. "I'll bet."

"If you have something to say, Scully, just say it, will you?" Mulder knew what she was hinting at, but he really didn't want to go there, not now.

Scully took a deep breath. She knew Mulder didn't want to talk about it, but she also knew that he had to. They had to. "Mulder, you were badly hurt. You'd be concerned about me if it had happened to me, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you worry about how I was doing, what I was feeling, how I was going to cope with coming back to work and facing everyone, dealing with the pressure of the job again? Wouldn't you?" Scully was gentle but relentless, holding his gaze as she asked her questions.

"Wouldn't you wish to God that this hadn't happened to me? Wouldn't you want to help me however you could, be with me, talk to me, make sure I talked to a professional to help me where you couldn't? Wouldn't you want me to lean on you?"

Mulder's eyes had dropped down to his plate, his face going still as he listened. Finally he swallowed and looked back at her. His voice was rough and thick as he answered her. "Yes. All of those things, Scully. I would feel all of those things." He searched her face and there was another long pause. "It's hard."

Scully said nothing, letting him set the pace.

"I feel...vulnerable. On display, like everyone who sees me knows what happened. Knows that I...couldn't protect myself, that I was beaten so easily..."

"I have nightmares about it. I wake up feeling his hands around my neck, his weight on top of me, his...well, you know."

"I can't stop thinking about it, Scully, and I have to. I have to get back to work, get moving, face everyone, or I'm afraid I never will." He dropped his head, his strength gone.

After a moment to make sure he was done and to allow her feelings to subside, Scully asked, "I can tell you what I think and feel about what happened, Mulder, and I can try to imagine how you can cope with this, but that's all it would be-my feelings and imagination. I don't know what to say to make it easier for you. That's why I wish you would see a counselor, someone who does know what to do, what to say to make it easier, to help you deal with it."

"Unless there's someone you haven't told me about, I believe I'm the only one you've talked to about this. I think I'm the only one you feel you can trust with this, with yourself. And you can trust me, Mulder, you know that. I do want you to talk to me, to tell me whatever you can, whatever you want me to know, and I'll tell you what I see, what I feel. But it scares me, Mulder, being the only one. That's a hell of a lot of responsibility, being the only one my best friend and partner talks to about his rape."

"I want you to feel better, to get well, to be well. I'm afraid that I don't know what to say to help you do that."

Mulder blinked his eyes tiredly, trying to process what she'd said. It was true, there wasn't anyone else he'd talk to about this. And he had to admit, if it were the other way around, he'd want Scully to talk to a counselor. Even though he was a trained psychologist, he wasn't trained in rape counseling, an area that was a minefield for the unwary, he did know that much. He had to admit it, Scully was right. He did need to talk to someone who knew the kinds of things going through his head and how to redirect them. What he didn't need was to depend totally on Scully. She was right again in that wouldn't be fair to her. He gave her a reluctant wry twist of a smile. "How did you get to be so smart?"

Scully carefully let out her pent-up breath. He was listening; he was really listening. She smiled back at him. "Mulder, I've always known best. You're just now starting to realize it."

Mulder laughed with her. It felt good, being teased by her again. It felt normal, and normality was something he badly needed right now. "O.K., Scully, you win. I'll make the call today."

"Good. Now let me tell you what's going on at work..."

*******************************************************

Mulder ran easily, his legs feeling free and loose, his arms swinging, his breath coming and going regularly. It felt good to finally get to this place again, where his body obeyed his mind and did what it was supposed to. He had been hurting and weak for so long, he'd almost forgotten how good this felt.

He'd been back at work for several weeks now, and that was finally feeling normal again, too. It had been difficult, more difficult than anything he'd ever faced before. He'd seen the sidelong glances, the wondering eyes, and answered the probing questions, first with curtness, then with patience as he grew used to them and more comfortable with his own answers. He had realized that most of the questions were seriously posed, a result of the questioner's concern, and not the vulgar crudities he'd expected. Actually, he'd been amazed to discover how many people cared about him. That priceless knowledge was a gift he was thankful for, even if it did come out of something terrible. Maybe even more because it did.

He'd seen Walter Skinner as often as before, no more or less, and the man had acted exactly the same. It had about driven Mulder crazy, really. How could the man compartmentalize his life, his very self, to that extent! It was difficult at first, facing the man across the desk, seeing him walk down the halls as if nothing had changed, as if they had not changed, as if all the pain and the fear...and the words...had never been. But he began to believe that Skinner had told him the truth the last time they'd spoken. He had told Mulder that it was up to him, everything was up to him, and now Mulder believed the man had meant it. It was up to him. And he didn't know what to do.

Mulder was seeing a counselor, a rape counselor. He had called the city's rape crisis center and got the name of a male counselor. He seriously hadn't wanted to go, to talk about what had happened to him to some stranger, but he knew he had to. He didn't want to depend totally on Scully. She was right. Again. Damn, but that got tedious, he thought with a smile. It was slow going, the counseling, but he was slowly starting to trust the man, at least enough to release a thought or a feeling once in a while, like test balloons, seeing which way the wind blew. He wasn't giving Mulder any answers, but he was giving him some interesting things to think about.

Mulder finally slowed down to a walk, enjoying being tired in a good way for a change, rather than the ill and injured tired he'd been used to for so long. He walked back to his apartment, taking his time, enjoying the quiet, peaceful night. He loved the night-it was so much slower and more restful than the bright, glaring light of day. Too bad he couldn't work entirely at night. He grinned. Scully might not appreciate that thought too much. Talk about your day person!

Once inside his apartment he quickly stripped and dropped his clothes, stepping into the shower. It was quick but thorough, and he hastily pulled on some sweats. He still didn't feel comfortable naked. It was just one more thing he had to deal with. He sighed and flopped down onto the couch. It was Friday night, and he hadn't a clue what he was going to do this weekend. He clicked on the T.V. and started flipping through the channels. After just a few minutes he threw the remote down in disgust. This wasn't what he needed tonight. Before he could second guess himself, he grabbed his phone and dialed the number.

"Hello?" Skinner's voice was strangely soft and mellow to his ears.

Mulder swallowed silently, not sure what to say, what he could say.

"Hello?" The voice this time was impatient, and Mulder knew he was about to hang up.

"Walter," he choked out. He heard the sharply drawn breath.

"Mulder? Is that you? Are you O.K.? Mulder?" The voice was clearly worried.

"Yeah." It was all he could manage. There was a long silence. Mulder's heart began to slow from its frantic pace of earlier. This was O.K. He could do this.

Finally Skinner spoke. "I was just making some chili. Do you want to come over?"

Mulder's heart sped up again. "Just dinner?"

A short silence and then, "Just dinner, Mulder, and maybe some conversation or T.V. That's all." Unspoken promises filled the silence.

Mulder heard them and was reassured. He could do this. He could. Couldn't he? He trusted Skinner enough for this, didn't he? Didn't he? Mulder exhaled forcefully. Shit. What was he now, scared of his own shadow? He wanted to go, and he would, even if it made him crazy. "Give me fifteen."

"You can take twenty."

Mulder heard the relief and pleasure in Walter's voice, and it made him feel good. There weren't too many people that were fond of his presence lately. He hung up without saying goodbye and went to scrounge in his closet for some clean clothes.

The drive over went too quickly for Mulder. He sat for long moments in the car, gathering his courage. Finally he gave up thinking entirely and just climbed out.

Standing at the door, waiting for Skinner, Mulder nearly panicked. What was he doing? What had he been thinking? Only the thought of his empty apartment kept him there, and even that was losing power by the time the door finally opened. Walter Skinner stood there dressed casually in slacks and a button-down shirt, his expression relaxed and welcoming.

"Mulder, come on in." He stood back, giving him room.

Mulder hesitated then moved into the room. It was too late for second thoughts. Or third thoughts, anyway. He kept his distance from the big man, eyeing him warily.

Skinner thought Mulder looked like a homeless, beaten dog, watching out for a stray kick, and sadness washed through him. He had done that to this man. He consciously kept his movements slow and gentle as he closed the door and led the way further into his living room.

"I'm glad you called." He held his hands out for Mulder's coat and turned to put it away in the hall closet.

Mulder watched Skinner's wide back and swallowed. He didn't know what to say now. He really wasn't sure why he'd called, except he was tired of being alone, tired of being afraid, so he didn't say anything at all.

Skinner had turned back to Mulder and saw that he wasn't going to respond. "You want to watch some T.V. while I finish up in the kitchen? Or do you want to come help?"

Mulder swallowed. "I'll help." He didn't want to be left alone with his thoughts.

Mulder was awkward and hesitant at first, but he slowly relaxed, cleaning and chopping vegetables at Skinner's suggestion. He stole quick glances at the big man, wondering what he was thinking about all this, about Mulder's call and his presence, wondering what he was going to tell him when there was nothing left to do to distract them both.

Skinner was aware of Mulder's scrutiny, but he gave no sign. He didn't want to do anything to push this man away. He was like a wild animal, wary and skittish, and Walter knew he had to let him set the pace and the agenda. He would accept whatever Mulder could give him. He was just enjoying his presence, feeling the first stirring of hope for forgiveness and maybe...God, maybe something more.

All too soon, the chili was bubbling on the stove, the kitchen cleaned up, and there was nothing left to do but wait. "Do you want to watch some T.V. while we wait?" Skinner asked.

"Sure." Mulder followed him into the living room, folding himself onto an easy chair as Skinner sat on the couch and picked up the remote. He flipped channels for awhile, absently commenting on the shows, then stopped on a sports channel.

"This all right?"

"Yeah." Mulder groaned to himself. Things were rolling along now, weren't they? His biggest problem was he didn't know exactly what he wanted, except that it felt good to be here-stilted and awkward, sure, but still better than being home alone. It felt like he'd taken a step forward after a long time stuck curled up in a corner, alone and afraid.

He glanced at Skinner, studying the strong lines of his face. He had some things he needed to say to this man, but he wasn't sure he could do it. He licked his lips nervously. Maybe he could do it one sentence at a time. That might work. He'd be able to deal with it slowly, at his own glacial pace. He risked the first sentence. "We haven't talked in a long time."

Skinner turned his head to face Mulder. They talked often at work, but he knew what Mulder was getting at. "I didn't think you wanted to talk to me." He watched Mulder's eyes drop and took a deep breath, trying to keep calm. This was so important. He had to remain in control, thinking quickly and speaking slowly.

Mulder didn't raise his eyes. "I guess I didn't." There was a long pause. His heart was beating wildly as he rehearsed his words, the words he needed to say. "I'm afraid of you." The blood pounding in his ears slowly subsided as he realized he'd done it. He'd admitted his fear, and doing so, it became more manageable. He looked up to search Skinner's face.

Skinner had felt a yawning pit open in his belly at Mulder's words, a pit full of regret and shame at what he'd done. He closed his eyes, willing back the sudden hot itchiness behind them, letting himself calm down before he replied. What could he say to that? "I promised you I'd never hurt you again, Mulder. I meant it then, and I mean it now." His eyes expressed his sincerity.

Mulder saw it and sighed. "I know, Walter. And I do believe you. But believing that you won't try to hurt me again doesn't change the fact that you did before, and if you wanted to, you could again. I..." Mulder stopped. This was another hard part, but he needed to say this, too.

"You hurt me so easily, Walter. You beat me and...controlled me from the start to the end. There was nothing I could do to stop it. You were right when you said it before. You're bigger than I am. You're stronger than I am. You're a better fighter than I am. Whatever you wanted to do, you could do. You can do. And I can't stop you."

Skinner slowly nodded. As much as he wanted to deny it, as much as it hurt to hear it said like that, it was the truth. He respected Mulder too much to deny it. "Yes. You're right. In the same way that, if you wanted to, you could hurt Scully, or nearly any woman and quite a few men. In fact, with your Bureau training, you could probably take control of most men."

Mulder blinked, nonplussed. "But I would never..."

"No. But you could, Mulder. And I'd venture to say that every woman that ever went out with you knew that in the back of her mind, just like every woman I ever went out with, and probably most of the men."

Mulder was silent, working on that.

"I would never hurt an innocent like I hurt you, Mulder. I would never hurt a woman like I hurt you, not even for my son's sake. I don't know if what I'm telling you now is going to make it better for you or worse, but it's the truth. I do know you. I know how strong you are. I know how compassionate you are. I believe that you would have let me...rape you if you knew what was going on. Actually, you did. You did let me rape you." He paused, his voice rough, his breath ragged.

"You said...you were afraid of me. I don't know what...I can't fix that. I don't know how to make that better, Mulder, except for what I've already said. I can only tell you that...I raped you...because I knew you were strong, not because I thought you were weak."

Mulder closed his eyes, feeling those words begin to soothe one of the biggest raw wounds on his soul. He took a deep breath, feeling the crushing tightness of his chest ease. Nothing could change the past, but Skinner's words helped change his perspective on what had happened. He believed that Skinner was telling the truth. He believed that he did have Skinner's respect, and he finally believed that he'd really be okay one of these days. He looked up to meet taut brown eyes. "You think the chili's ready?"

Walter Skinner blinked, processing that, then a slow smile bloomed. "Yeah, I think it's probably ready." He followed Mulder into the kitchen, watching, bemused. There was a lot still to be said, but he'd do what he had promised. He'd let Mulder set the pace.

End of part 6

 

* * *

 

TRUST 7  
By Tesa  
  
DATE: October 26, 2000  
RATING: NC-17  
CATEGORY: SLASH, M/SK MulderAngst, SkinnerAngst  
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television. This is a not-for-profit fictional excursion. Thank you very much.  
SUMMARY: Mulder and Skinner take another slow step in their relationship  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.  
ARCHIVE: Yes  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Comments and constructive criticism greatly appreciated.

* * *

Trust 7  
by Tesa

Mulder let out a long, tired sigh as he dropped his bags to the floor and flopped down on his couch. He and Scully had just returned from a seemingly endless, fruitless trip out to California. Well, maybe not entirely fruitless. Women had been disappearing regularly every full moon from a small mountain town, and witnesses reported seeing a strange animal lurking near the scenes of the disappearances--an animal that seemed to walk upright.

After he finally convinced local authorities that he could help, his study of the case files had told Mulder the women shared the same paid-under-the-table gardener/ handyman and a look at the forensics showed artificial fur. It turned out that Sam Norrin thought he was a werewolf and wore an old Halloween costume to help him get into the whole fantasy. Mulder snorted. Well, even if it wasn't supernatural, at least he'd helped catch a killer and saved some lives.

He sighed again and heaved himself off the couch. He'd better get moving or he felt like he'd never get off that couch again. He showered quickly and pulled on some sweats, then began to empty his suitcases. He worked mechanically, his mind wandering to Walter Skinner, like it seemed to do all the time lately.

It had been several weeks since their first talk at Skinner's place. They had spent a quiet, relaxing night eating chili and watching T.V., with only the occasional comment about the shows or the weather or work to break the easy silence. Since then, Mulder had gone over there every Friday night for a few hours, enjoying the same easy companionship. It had become the highpoint to his week, something he looked forward to, something that could get him through the ugly flashbacks and depressing thoughts he still had sometimes. They didn't come as often as before, but they still came. He still saw the rape counselor, of course, but only once a week now, and that experience was never easy. Of course, it wasn't supposed to be easy. He knew that.

He liked Walter. His lips lifted into a smile at the irony in that understatement. He enjoyed his company. He liked watching him move, watching him think, watching him talk. He was a fascinating man, one that had lived a tough, colorful life, and Mulder loved hearing about it. He loved listening to the man talk about his family and his growing years, years full of love and fun, nothing at like family life as Mulder knew it, more like what he'd seen on T.V. He'd never really believed that anyone lived like that, but apparently he was wrong.

He even loved listening to the man talk about his time in the war, a time that was ugly and rough and such a shock to the boy Walter had been. Face it, Mulder told himself, you just love to hear him say anything, anything at all instead of growling at you.

Finished with his straightening up, Mulder gave in and picked up the phone. Listening to the ringing, his heart sped with anxiety as always.

"Hello?"

"Walter."

"Mulder? What's wrong, are--?"

"Nothing's wrong, Walter," Mulder broke in quickly, "I just got back tonight, and I wanted to call you."

"I'm glad you did, and I'm glad you're back."

"So am I." Mulder fidgeted, his knee bouncing rapidly.

"Would you like to come over? Or maybe you're too tired..." Mulder heard his voice trail off in disappointment.

"No. I mean I'm not tired. I'd like to come over." Cool, Mulder, that was cool.

"Great. See you soon."

Mulder slowly replaced the receiver and groaned. Oh, God, he thought, what am I doing? No, he knew exactly what he was doing, he just didn't quite believe it. He shook his head and got moving.

 

Several hours later Mulder sat next to Skinner on the couch. He was close, so close that Mulder could feel the heat from him. They sat there watching the T.V., but Mulder hadn't been paying attention for a while. He was consumed with feeling the man's presence next to him and dithering over what he was going to do about it. Shit. Stop procrastinating and do it. He kept watching the show as his hand slowly reached out and came to rest gingerly on Skinner's leg. He felt the muscles jerk in surprise under his touch, and Skinner drew in a surprised breath, then slowly let it out. The muscles under his hand relaxed and a broad, strong hand gently covered his own.

It was Mulder's breath that hitched this time, but nothing else happened, and he slowly relaxed. He closed his eyes and let himself feel. It had been so long since he'd been this close to another person-by choice, that is. He savored the warmth, the human closeness. He took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of soap and a hint of cologne and essence of Skinner, and he started to get hard. It surprised and delighted him. He hadn't had any hint of action down below since...since it happened. He'd been getting more and more concerned and none of the old standbys had done anything for him, but now he seemed to be coming back to life. Thank God.

He shifted, trying to surreptitiously adjust himself, but stopped short as Walter turned his head. He met those inquiring eyes, his own expression turning sheepish as he saw them glance at his lap and then rise back to meet his again.

Walter gently caressed the hand he still held, and a slow smile blossomed across his face. "Thank you, Fox."

Mulder was confused and a bit embarrassed still. He ignored the use of his forbidden first name. "For what?"

"For your presence. For your hand. For your willingness to try and for your trust. And for that." Skinner nodded down towards Mulder's lap. "You know I want you, Fox, and you learned that the hard way, but I'm a stuffy, old, bald-"

"Don't, Walter. If I'm not allowed to beat myself up, you're not either. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be. God, Walter, just the fact that I am here, should tell you how much I want to be with you."

Walter's smile had faded, but now it came back, softer. "I know, Fox. I know. It's just...knowing that you get hard for me is doing wonders for my ego." His gaze slowly gained heat. "I want to please you this time, Fox. I want to suck your cock. I want you to come in my mouth. Will you let me?"

Mulder's cock sprang to fully erect in moments. He swallowed drily. He checked for the fear, but there was none, just lust and eagerness. He wanted to see Walter on his knees before him...oh, God, yeah. "Please." It was all he could utter, but it was enough.

Walter gently placed Mulder's hand back on his own leg and slowly slid off the couch, coming to his knees in front of the dumbstruck man. He put his hands on Mulder's knees and spread them wide, making a place for himself. "Fox, if you want me to stop at any time, or do something else, whatever you want, you just tell me, O.K.? I don't want to do anything you don't want, not ever again." He looked up at his soon to be lover, his gaze serious.

Mulder nodded. "I know, Walter. I want this, too. I want your mouth wrapped around my cock."

Walter gave him a slow smile. He reached out and worked to free Mulder from his jeans. In moments he held the man's cock in his hand. He moved closer, enjoying the sight and the scent of this man, reveling in the pure trust Mulder was showing in allowing this. He silently vowed to always be worthy of it, and he bent his head to taste trust.

Mulder groaned as he felt the first moist heat touch his flesh and he clenched his hands convulsively on the couch. Walter's lips and tongue played lightly over him, licking and kissing the length of his cock and gently nuzzling at his balls. An eternity passed and finally Mulder felt himself enveloped in warmth, and he gasped from the pure, ultimate pleasure of it all. His hands descended to rest on Walter's head, not holding or guiding, but caressing his thanks.

Mulder tried to hold on, but it had been so long since he'd felt this kind of loving attention that he didn't stand a chance. He cried out his pleasure and came explosively.

Walter swallowed and after a few last licks, let Mulder slip out of his mouth. He gently tucked the man away again, and eased back up on the couch, loving the sight of the man sprawled out, arms and legs flung wide, head laid back, eyes closed.

Mulder finally lifted his head to look at Walter. His expression was serious. "Thank you, Walter."

Walter nodded. "You're welcome."

"Do you want...?"

"No, Fox. I don't want anything, not this time." Mulder tried to hide it, but Skinner saw the relief in his face, and just felt sad. He had taken so much from this man. He had taken his trust, his body, his very ability to give and receive physical affection. Well, maybe he was making progress in restoring trust and receiving affection. It gave him hope for the rest.

"What do we do now, Walter?"

"What do you want to do?"

Mulder smiled, his eyes closed again. "Go to sleep."

"Would you like to spend the night? Take the couch?" Walter offered, holding his breath. This was a huge step. He wondered if it was too soon for Mulder. Well, it was up to him.

Mulder inhaled deeply, slowly, waiting for the fear to leap. It didn't. He exhaled with relief. Could he do that? Did he want to? Oh, yeah. "I'd like that."

"Great. I'll get you some bedding. Be right back." Skinner left the room.

"Oh, God, what am I doing?" Mulder muttered to himself.

Several hours later he was still asking himself the same question. He had washed his face and used Walter's spare toothbrush and settled down comfortably on the couch. Walter was upstairs sleeping, had been for hours. Mulder couldn't sleep. He really didn't know what had led him to believe he could. His mind wouldn't stop going. He'd been truly wiped out after that unbelievable blow job he'd received, but he found that he just couldn't relax enough to let go. He kept thinking that he'd be totally vulnerable asleep. He knew Walter wasn't going to hurt him. He really did know that. Knowing that consciously, though, did nothing to relax his body, or for that matter, his subconscious.

Mulder sighed and swung his feet over to the floor, sitting up, his head in his hands. There was one thing left to try. He got up and turned the T.V. on, keeping the volume low. It didn't matter what was on, he just needed the sound. For some reason, he found it soothing.

He flopped back down on the couch, pulling the blanket up to his neck and tucking it under his arm. He closed his eyes and listened, not trying to sleep, just allowing the words to wash over him. He was gone in minutes.

 

Walter came awake slowly, confused for a few moments. It was still dark, still nighttime. What had awakened him? Then he heard it-a low, climbing groan, then a heart-rending scream. He jumped out of bed and hurried through the dark house, down the stairs and toward Mulder. He clicked the light on, revealing a thrashing shape on the couch. The screams kept coming, and Walter knelt by the couch, placing a hand on Mulder's shoulder, trying to bring him out of it slowly. It didn't work.

Mulder came awake with a cry, his arms swinging, feeling someone nearby, before his brain caught up and told him that it was okay, it was just Walter, he was safe. He settled back, his breath heaving, his heart pounding with the remnants of his dream and the recent adrenaline rush.

He turned and set his feet on the floor, his elbows propped on his legs, his head in his hands. He rubbed his face, trying to wake up, trying to push back the memories and the despair, one more time. God, to do this in front of Walter. He felt so ashamed. He ought to be able to go one night without this, shouldn't he? He didn't want to look at Walter; he didn't want to see what he was sure was in his face, in his eyes. Pity. He could stand anything but that.

Walter stared at the shaking man in front of him and knew that this was another crisis point. If he didn't say the right thing, do the right thing now, there may not ever be another chance. "Do you want a glass of water?"

It took a moment for Mulder to realize what he'd actually said. He'd been anticipating another apology, some kind of 'it'll be all right' sympathy, but not this calm, forthright question. Although..."Yeah. Please."

Walter quietly left and returned, handing him a glass and sitting on the coffee table across from Mulder. He watched as Mulder gulped the water, his shaking diminishing to occasional shudders, then they were gone entirely.

The silence was long but oddly restful. Mulder didn't feel anxious or pressured by Walter's steady regard, but rather quieted and reassured. Finally he sighed, leaned back against the couch and met Walter's eyes.

"It's not as bad as it was, Walter. I am getting better."

Walter's question was equally level, asking but not prying. "You dream about when I raped you?"

Mulder closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find a way to say what he had to. "I dream...about being held down, about being beaten, being raped. I dream about being helpless. I don't see you there. In my dreams, I'm attacked by a faceless figure-it's more feelings than reality."

Mulder opened his eyes again, needing to see Walter's face. "I don't want you to apologize anymore, Walter. I know. In my head, I know. These dreams, my problems, they're more about me than about you, and I'm learning to deal with them. I don't want your pity." That last was said with force.

"I don't pity you, Fox." Walter's gaze didn't waver. "I already told you that I admire your strength. That hasn't changed. It's just that I feel helpless. I want to make you feel better, to make it go away, to make it not have happened, but I can't, and that frustrates me like you wouldn't believe."

Mulder nodded. He could understand that. He wanted it to go away too. He wanted it to have never happened. "Me, too, Walter. Me, too." He leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes.

"Fox?"

"Hmmm?"

"Would you come to bed with me? Nothing will happen, I swear it. I just...would like to hold you, if you want it, if you think you'll be all right." Walter's voice was low and hesitant.

After a moment's shock, Mulder let himself picture it. He saw himself in the bed, wearing his shorts and T-shirt, of course, and he saw Walter, similarly dressed, pressed to his back...no, not that way. O.K., how about him curled up to Walter's back...yeah, that was better. He imagined his body next to Walter's warmth, his arm draped around Walter's chest, his nose pressed to Walter's neck.... Yeah, he could go with that. That was definitely do-able. It was worth a try. He knew he wouldn't be getting any sleep down here alone on the couch, not that night. And even if he couldn't sleep up in Walter's bed either, at least he wouldn't be alone. He was just so tired of being alone.

So he opened his eyes, lifted his head and smiled at the man waiting for his answer. "I'm willing to give it a try if you are, big guy."

Walter's answering smile was slow and blinding, full of astonished pleasure. He hadn't really believed Mulder would take him up on the offer, but he had to make it. He stood and held out his hand to Mulder. Mulder grabbed it and was pulled off the couch and gently tugged up the stairs.

Once in the bedroom, Walter dropped Mulder's hand and turned to look at him, unsure once again. He didn't want to do anything or say anything to upset this man.

Mulder saw his apprehension and smiled again. "It's all right, Walter. I'm all right. Get into bed and I'll spoon up behind you, if that's O.K.?"

Walter nodded, solemn again. He climbed into bed and rolled onto his side, facing away from Mulder. The bed shifted as Mulder joined him, and he felt the welcome press of solid muscular flesh against his back. Mulder's arm came across his body, and he loved the feel of it there, where it belonged. He tentatively grasped the hand there and prayed with everything in him that this wounded man found peace in his bed tonight.

Mulder rested his head next to Walter's neck, in the space between his head and his shoulder and felt warm and safe. He felt as if Walter stood between him and the rest of the world, protecting him behind his body, and it felt good. It felt so good. He inhaled deeply, savoring the masculine scent of his lover. Yeah, he figured he could call him that. After all, the man had sucked his cock, hadn't he? God, what a memory that was. And didn't that make him his lover? Yes, it did. He had a lover. And didn't he just love the sound of that? Oh, yeah. His eyes closed, Mulder finally relaxed, safe and sound in his lover's bed.

End of part 7

 

* * *

 

TRUST 8  
By Tesa  
  
DATE: November 4, 2000  
RATING: NC-17  
CATEGORY: SLASH, M/SK (not this part)  
MulderTorture  
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television. This is a not-for-profit fictional excursion. Thank you very much.  
SUMMARY: Mulder is taken captive  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.  
ARCHIVE: Yes  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Mulder's in trouble again. Skinner is absent from this part, but don't worry, he'll be back. I'd thought to make this longer, but I need to go to sleep now, and I'm eager for people to get a taste of where I'm going next. I anticipate more MulderTorture on the horizon. Comments and constructive criticism greatly appreciated.

* * *

Trust 8  
by Tesa

"Drop it, Mulder." Scully didn't even look up from the file she was studying.

Mulder dropped the donut, glancing guiltily over at his partner. How did she do that? He sighed and settled back in his chair. He was bored. He started to tap his pencil on the desk. It had been weeks since anything interesting had turned up, and he was about ready to jump out of his skin with a need to do something, to go somewhere.

"Mulder." Scully looked up finally. "You're driving me up the wall. Go do something. Somewhere else."

Mulder sighed and flung the pencil down. "O.K." He grabbed his jacket and made for the door. "I'm going to lunch. I'll see you in about an hour."

"Good plan, Mulder. Go for a walk or something, too. Work out some of that energy." She still didn't look up.

*********************************************************************

Mulder came awake yelling as he felt a fist ram into his belly. His body jerked and flailed and his head moved from side to side, trying to understand where he was and what was happening. The fist buried itself into his belly again, and he grunted, trying to double up in pain, but he couldn't.

He was hanging from his wrists, his feet barely touching the ground. The fist kept coming, again, and again, and Mulder grunted with each heavy impact. He was getting the shit beat out of him, and he didn't know why.

The room was dark, with only a single table lamp to light it, perched on a stand in one corner. He couldn't see much, but from what he could see, he thought it might be a basement or cellar. It felt cool and damp, and what he could see of the floor was concrete.

The blows came quicker now as his assailant used both fists, crashing into his belly, his ribs, and his back. Heavy breathing filled the air, his and the other's.

Finally the man stepped back, his hands hanging once more at his sides. It was dark, but Mulder could see he wasn't a big man. No, he couldn't be more than five eight or nine, and his build was slim to medium. He didn't look like much, but, God, he could hit like a man twice his size.

"What am I..." Mulder started.

The man's words were slow and calm, and utterly terrifiying. "If you say one more word I'll cut your tongue out."

Mulder shut up. He didn't know if the man meant it, and he didn't want to find out. He still couldn't see the man's face clearly, but he felt the smile.

"Good." He looked at Mulder for a moment, then turned to the small table in the corner. He picked something up, then turned back to Mulder. He held it up, and there was a bright flash of light. A camera. He was taking pictures. Shit The flashes continued as the man moved around Mulder, taking pictures from all sides. Mulder didn't like not being able to see him. He was relieved when the man came back to his front. It wasn't much better, but it was better.

He set the camera back on the table and left without another word or glance at his prisoner. Mulder let his head drop and considered his problems.

He remembered going to lunch at a small Chinese restaurant. He remembered walking out to his car afterwards. He didn't remember anything from then until now.

He surveyed his present situation, trying to think calmly, rationally, trying to keep the fear at bay. He was dressed in his undershirt and pants. Someone had taken the rest of his clothes and socks and shoes while he was out. The floor was cool on his bare toes, which were the only things keeping him from dangling from his wrists again. He wouldn't be able to keep that up for long. His calf muscles were already burning.

He looked up to see coarse rope wrapped around his wrists. There was a short length between his hands that was draped over a metal hook on a chain that seemed to be anchored in the ceiling, from what he could tell.

He concentrated on his body, trying to assess his condition. It didn't seem too bad, not really. The beating had been painful, but he didn't think he had any broken bones or internal injuries. His leg muscles were hurting from trying to support his weight in this awkward position. His wrists were chafed from the rope, and his arms and shoulders ached from supporting his weight before he'd regained consciousness.

He licked his lips, feeling the dryness. Thirst could become a problem very soon. And he needed a bathroom. Where was he? Who was this guy? And why did he want to hurt him? Was he being held for ransom? Why else were the pictures taken, if not for proof of his being alive. He grimaced. He knew there could be other reasons. He just didn't want to think about that. Was his partner looking for him yet? How about the whole F.B.I.? He sincerely hoped so.

The hours passed and Mulder's thoughts descended in a slow spiral. Jesus, he was thirsty. A man could go days without food, but he needed water a lot sooner. Mulder knew he wasn't in danger yet, but the need was real. So was the other need. He needed a bathroom, and he needed it hours ago.

His body was stiffening up from the beating and the continual stress his position caused. He was so tired. His head rested on his chest, and his eyes closed.

Behind him the door banged open violently, and Mulder jerked his head up, startled, his heart pounding. The man came in, walking around to face him. He calmly studied Mulder's face, as if he were an experiment. There was no emotion there.

"Do you have to pee?"

Mulder inhaled, relief and anticipation spreading through him. At the least he could get rid of the discomfort. If he was lucky, though, he might be able to seize this chance to get free. He didn't know how yet, but it was a chance. He nodded, mindful of the man's earlier threat.

"Then pee."

It took Mulder a minute to process that. The man meant for him to pee his pants. No. No way. What was he doing?

The man cocked his head, studying him. "Pee, or I'll beat you until you do."

Mulder shook his head. No. He couldn't think past the humiliation of it. He couldn't do it.

The man smiled and pulled a small baton from the table and went to work. The room was silent but for the rhythmic thuds of wood on flesh, the slide of the man's footsteps on the concrete as he moved, and Mulder's groans, grunts, and finally, whines.

Mulder's world had shrunk and the name of it was Pain. He heard the whining of an animal in pain and wished that someone would put it out of its misery. Only slowly did he become aware that the sounds came from him and that the beating had stopped. He tried to regain control, but his body wouldn't let him. It was only interested in expressing the agony that filled him. The baton was jammed under his chin and his head lifted to meet his torturer's gaze.

The man was as calm and collected as before he began the beating. "Pee." His cold gray eyes silently threatened more pain.

Mulder whimpered and let go, feeling the hot urine soak his pants and trickle down his legs. The smell was acrid and unmistakable. The baton under his chin didn't move, nor did the eyes waver. Slowly those eyes warmed and he smiled at Mulder, a small, happy smile. "Good boy."

The baton was taken away and the man silently turned and left the room, leaving Mulder alone again, stinking of pain, fear and urine.

End of part 8

 

* * *

 

TRUST 9  
By Tesa  
  
DATE: December 15, 2000  
RATING: NC-17  
CATEGORY: SLASH, M/SK  
MulderTorture  
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television. This is a not-for-profit fictional excursion. Thank you very much.  
SUMMARY: Mulder is in serious trouble  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.  
ARCHIVE: Yes  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Mulder's still in trouble. I've been working on this in fits and starts, but I thought you'd like an update. The next part should see an end to Mulder's imprisonment one way or another. Comments and constructive criticism greatly appreciated.

* * *

Trust 9  
by Tesa

As the echoes of the man's footsteps faded away, Mulder tried to make his brain start working again. It was hard to do. The pain was like a living thing, stalking through his body unchecked. He was hurt badly this time, he knew. Even the pain throughout his wrists, arms, and chest had been submerged under this new, devastating agony. And it was starting to get harder to breathe. He couldn't tell if it was from the strain of his position or a result of the beating, but he knew he didn't like it.

He clenched his jaw. Enough avoidance, he told himself. The bastard just beat the hell out of you and ordered you to piss your pants. And you did it. The shame that he'd been successfully hiding from washed through him. Jesus. He'd been beaten in more ways than one, and he had the terrible thought that it wasn't going to end there. The kind of man that could give a beating like that, that could do that to him, well, that kind of man wasn't going to stop there. He knew it, even if he didn't want to think about it.

God. Please, he prayed. He wasn't sure he believed in that kind of thing, but he was willing to give it a try in this case.

He had to find out why he was there. He had to find out who that bastard was. He had to have something to work with. He was surer than ever, though, that to open his mouth would lose him a tongue. He wouldn't put anything past this bastard. He wondered again about Scully and the Bureau. And Walter. Oh, Walter. I'm sorry, he thought. I'm sorry, Walter. I miss you. Find me. Get me out of here. Save me.

Pain pounding through his body in time with his pulse, his breath coming in slow, effortful gasps, Mulder remembered the night before.

It had been the night. He'd been spending most of his free time with Walter in the last couple of months. They were lovers. They'd managed just about everything except the one, the big one, the ultimate act of intimacy and trust. Mulder thought he was ready. He wanted it-he really wanted it. He'd grabbed his courage with both hands and asked Walter.

"I'd like to be inside you tonight, Walter. Do you want that, too? Will you let me?" His voice had been low but clear.

They had been eating dinner, watching each other across the kitchen table. Walter had frozen, his fork suspended in midair as heat flared to life in his eyes and his skin flushed with instant arousal. He'd said two words, "Oh, yes," and they were on their way up to the bedroom.

Mulder laughed, startled and delighted at the effect his words had on his lover. He allowed himself to be tugged after the big man, eager, yet apprehensive as well. He'd never given anal sex before. He didn't want to hurt Walter, but, oh, man, did he want to fuck him. Imagining his hard cock buried in that tight ass almost pushed him over the edge already. He didn't know how he'd be able to hold on long enough to give Walter pleasure, too.

The sound of footsteps dragged Mulder out of his memories, and he started to shake. One corner of his always-analytical mind noted his understandable reaction to a repeated stimulus: footsteps mean pain, but mostly he was scared and ashamed of that fear and the fact that he was being broken down so easily, so quickly.

The man stood before him again, his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes slowly surveyed the helpless man before him.

Mulder couldn't keep himself from shaking. He tried to meet the man's gaze, but he couldn't face those dark, knowing eyes for long. Finally the man smiled and went to the table. Mulder saw him pick up something, but he couldn't tell what it was from there. He walked toward Mulder slowly, the object held coyly behind his back.

Mulder swallowed, fear filling his senses. The bastard had gone behind him now and long, quiet, terrible moments passed slowly. Mulder's quick gasps were the only sounds to be heard. Finally there was a strange, quick whisper of air, a loud startling crack, and a line of fire ran down Mulder's back. It forced a frightened, pained cry from him, and it took him moments to realize what was happening. He was being whipped.

Long, silent minutes passed again before the next whisper, crack, and blaze of pain. Mulder cried out again. The blows continued to fall, and Mulder kept crying out, his voice going hoarse as the whipping continued. He tried to go back to his memories to escape the pain, but the whip wouldn't let him. Every blow drew him back to his body, to the blazing inferno his back was becoming. The blows fell sporadically, forcing him to feel each separately instead of fading into a pattern that could be borne easier. The whip kissed its way across his back, from shoulders to waist and back again, and Mulder's cries faded into a nonstop groan coming deep from his belly.

He wanted to ask why, to beg the bastard to stop, to yell his anger, but the man's warning remained bright and sharp in his mind even as everything else faded into the darkness. Finally even that fell away and Mulder lost consciousness.

When he woke again, the first thing that he felt was the heavy, burning, aching pain that lived in his back. He bit back a groan, trying to adjust to all the pain messages reporting from his whole body.

He licked dry lips and swallowed. He needed water.

He still hung from his wrists. He couldn't really feel his hands anymore. He knew that was a bad sign, but he couldn't seem to work up any emotion over it.

It was hard to breathe. Each inhalation was a conscious effort. He thought about trying to get his feet under him again, but he knew that moving his body would hurt like hell, and he didn't know if he could face that, even if he had the strength to remain on his feet, which he knew he didn't.

Useless thoughts. There was nothing he could do. He might as well go back to what he was doing before being so rudely interrupted. Mulder smiled at the thought. Maybe he was helpless, but while the bastard controlled his body, he couldn't control his mind. So where was he before...? Oh, yes. They were on their way to Walter's bedroom.

Mulder's memories gave him flashes of that night-snapshots of pleasure and wonder and comfort that he couldn't ever remember feeling before.

Flash. He saw himself slowly stripping Walter's clothes away, revealing the big, hard body that he loved so much. He saw the answering heat and affection in Walter's gaze. He heard the big man's sharp intake of breath when Mulder's hands wandered, cupping his cock and balls gently. Holding him close, Mulder felt him tremble at the deep kiss they shared, and his own pleasure leaped, and he reveled in the sheer power he held in his hands-this power that Walter gave him.

Flash. Mulder saw his lover lying face down on the bed; his limbs sprawled out in total trust. Mulder felt his hands stroke soft skin over hard muscle and strong bone, learning and worshipping the splendid male body laid out for him. He gently lifted those lean, solid hips, raising them for his penetration. Slowly and thoroughly he stretched Walter, getting him ready to take his cock. He heard Walter's moans of pleasure and his answering sighs.

Flash. The words, "Yes, Fox." The tight, hot grip of Walter's flesh surrounding his own. The giddy sense of power and triumph at the sight of this man laying beneath him, submitting to his penetration, taking Mulder's cock deep in his own body. He moved slowly. Even now, deep in his own pleasure, he refused to hurt this man that gave him so much.

Flash. Walter groaning and calling his name in encouragement and joy as he was well and truly fucked by Fox Mulder.

Flash. Mulder felt his explosive release spending his semen deep into the other man's body and Walter's spilling into and over his hand.

Flash. The two of them, cleaned up and warm, holding each other. Mulder's slow, silent tears expressing his overwhelming feelings of pleasure, comfort, trust, love, and release from fear. Both their murmured words, "Thank you."

Mulder surfaced from his memories, a smile on his face and warmth deep in his belly. It had been the best night of his life.

He felt the pain at a distance, now. He knew it was there, but it didn't bother him. He heard the footsteps again, but still the fear didn't come. He would endure. He had to.

The man stood in front of him again, watching him somberly. There was still no expression as he stepped forward, close to Mulder. Hands deftly stripped his pants and shorts down to his ankles, leaving them there, tangled around his feet.

Mulder clenched his jaw, trying not to look down, trying to keep his hard-won composure. There was nothing he could do. Nothing.

The man left him for the table again. He returned to Mulder, letting him see what he held in his hand this time. It was a strap, a thick leather strap.

Mulder wrenched his eyes away, fighting off a surge of nausea. He tried again to send his self away from this place. His body had to take it, but maybe he could escape this....

The man moved behind him again and waited. Mulder waited, too.

Whack! The slap of leather on flesh was loud and unmistakable. Mulder jerked in surprise and pain as the strap licked at his buttocks. Whack! Whack! Whack! The strap fell rhythmically this time, methodically covering his buttocks from where they rose off his lower back to the crease below and then moving down from there along vulnerable thighs.

Mulder groaned and kicked involuntarily at each terrible blow, and the man patiently waited until he stilled before striking again.

The man moved to cover the side of his left leg from hip to toe, then his right. Then he moved to the front. Mulder's groans climbed into yells and then screams as the strap fell on the tender flesh between his legs and between carefully separated buttocks.

Finally the beating ended. The man carefully returned his tool to the table, and then quietly left.

Mulder gasped for breath, his head bowed, his body trembling uncontrollably. Minutes came and went while he fought to breathe. Sweat ran down his face, dripping off his chin, drawing fire from his wounds. His thoughts faded in and out of a dark, smothering mist. He was in serious trouble, he knew.

Who was he? Why was he torturing Mulder? Was he going to die here? The way things were going, he wasn't going to last much longer.

Mulder tried to get a grip on himself. It was over for the moment. Pain throbbed through his body in waves, following the surge of his pulse. He was starting to think that he wasn't going to make it out of there alive. It didn't scare him as much as it made him sad. He'd been through so much shit in his life, not the least of which was getting raped by his boss just months ago. His life had taken a turn for the better, though, with his accepting Walter into his life. He'd been climbing out of the pit and here he was, in a heap at the bottom, again.

He felt a distant sorrow for himself, a kind of regret at lost chances, but most of all he was sorry for what his death was going to do to Walter-and Scully, too, of course. But Walter-he'd been alone almost as long as Mulder, and his life hadn't been easy, either. Add to that his guilt and pain over what he'd done to Mulder, and Mulder knew his death would be hard for the man to take, especially at this stage of their relationship. They were finally getting closer, more intimate, and now this.

Mulder closed his eyes. He was so tired. It seemed like he'd been fighting all his life-fighting for his parents' attention, fighting his peers' jealousy and scorn for him, fighting for recognition, fighting for the truth, and lately, fighting his own fears to reach out for something good-Walter. He was more than ready to lay down the sword and rest.

Sighing, he sought refuge in his memories once again. A smile curled his lips as he remembered waking up in Walter's bed that morning, the morning after. He'd blinked his eyes, feeling warm, hard arms holding him against a solid chest, and warm, soft lips gently pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Good morning, Fox."

"Mornin'" he mumbled, inhaling deeply, enjoying his lover's natural masculine scent. He felt a large, strong, calloused hand gently close over his cock, and he moaned his pure appreciation.

Those soft lips roamed his face as that hand took him to a long, slow-building pleasure, and he groaned as he came, filling Walter's hand with his warmth. The lips smiled against his cheek.

Mulder smiled back for a moment, and then disappeared under the covers to find his present. A moment later, his lips closed around Walter's cock, and the resulting sound, a cross between a groan and a grunt, made him want to laugh. He licked and sucked gently, worshipping Walter's cock, enjoying the knowledge that he was allowed such intimacy with this man, this strong, honorable man.

He would never forget what Walter had done to him to save his son, but he was able now, finally, to put the ugly emotions where they belonged-in the past, and enjoy the present with his lover. He knew he had changed after his rapes. Who wouldn't? He'd lost his sense of safety, of imperviousness, his bodily integrity. He'd lost control of his body, of his life, his emotions. Walter had taken them from him. He could not forget that, but he'd done it for a reason, a reason Mulder could understand and accept, in an unemotional sense. And in the end, Walter had accepted responsibility for what he'd done and had tried to give some of what he'd taken back. And he still tried. Mulder thought that Walter would always try.

And it was enough.

Knowing Walter loved him, admired him, respected him-that was what made his life worth living again, and he was smart enough not to ever give that up. No way. He'd discovered that while his job and his quest for the truth was very important to him, Walter was more important. No question. If their relationship ever became a problem at work, then work would have to go. It would hurt, sure, but he would do what he had to do to survive. And the name of survival was Walter.

Mulder finished his thoroughly enjoyable task but remained under the covers, still holding Walter's softening cock in his mouth.

"Fox?"

"Hmmm?

"What are you doing?"

"Hmmmmmm."

Walter laughed, "Come up here."

Mulder snaked his way back up, meeting the descending kiss with his own.

Walter sighed in pleasure. "Move in with me. Or let's find a place. Do you want to?"

Mulder's heart kick-started into high gear. "I'd love to, Walter. But is it a good idea?"

Walter laughed again, a warm, amused chuckle. "Probably not. But I want to anyway."

"Okay."

And it was.

Mulder opened his eyes again in that dark basement and knew he was going to fight to keep what he had. It had come too hard for him to give it up. He'd paid for it, and he was going to keep it, by God. If that bastard thought he was going to kill him, Mulder would make him work for it. He wouldn't give up on Walter. He just wouldn't do that to him, to them.

Mulder fought for his next breath and then began to plan.

End of part 9

 

* * *

 

TRUST 10  
By Tesa  
  
DATE: February 4, 2001  
RATING: NC-17  
CATEGORY: SLASH, M/SK MulderTorture  
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television. This is a not-for-profit fictional excursion. Thank you very much.  
SUMMARY: Mulder finds out the truth  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.  
ARCHIVE: Yes

* * *

Trust 10  
by Tesa

Footsteps woke him. He lifted his head slowly, trying desperately to gather his wits. It was time. His body was shutting down. If he was to survive this, he had to take the risk.

The man stood in front of him again, and Mulder began to shake. He didn't try to fight it anymore. He was afraid, and he wouldn't allow himself to be ashamed of it. Bright flashes seared his eyes, and he clenched them shut in reaction. It took him a moment to realize that he was being photographed again. He absorbed that fact, but he didn't allow himself to think about it. He had other things to worry about.

The flashes stopped, and he opened his eyes again, looking for him. He had his back turned, replacing the camera on the small table there, picking up something else. Mulder swallowed his fear and spoke.

"Tell me why. Please."

The man stood straight, his back still to Mulder. After a moment he began moving again, still silent. Mulder heard the rattle of chains and found himself abruptly on the floor in a heap. He groaned at the impact and consciousness faded momentarily.

Hands grabbed his wrists and dragged him. Mulder stifled a scream and tried to maintain his awareness. He couldn't afford to lose it now.

He was dragged a short distance then heaved up onto a table and securely strapped down. In a few short moments he felt a prick at his elbow as an IV was inserted and a bag hung from a rod attached above the table.

Mulder fought for breath as his heart rate soared. He didn't know what was going on, but whatever it was, he didn't like it. And the bastard still wasn't talking. He stood back, calmly watching.

Mulder tried again. "Who are you? What do you want?" He waited, but again there was no answer. He closed his eyes, trying to regroup, to think. Slowly he became aware of a burning feeling in his left arm. The IV. What the hell was dripping into his arm? The burning started to spread. Mulder swallowed and turned his head to the man once again. "What did you give me?"

There was no expression and no response from him.

Trying to restrain his panic, Mulder tried to concentrate, but the pain was spreading and getting worse. He panted, feeling the burning engulf his whole body then burst into agony. He screamed, his body jerking, trying to get free, to get away, to get that fucking needle out of his arm. It was useless.

Awareness of everything around him faded as his world narrowed into the ball of flame that was his body. He was screaming continuously now, spending his strength uncontrollably. Bruises formed and blood ran from his wrists and ankles as his body flailed, but he couldn't help it. It was too bad, too strong. On and on it went and Mulder slowly lost his grip on reality and gradually his voice and strength followed. In the end he lay still, no longer resisting the pain, just accepting it mutely. He'd forgotten there was a time before the pain and couldn't imagine a time after the pain.

"Agent Mulder." The voice was soft and strangely gentle.

"Agent Mulder." Patient.

The voice slowly filtered into Mulder's consciousness, and he reluctantly opened his eyes. He knew he needed to remember something now, but he couldn't reach it. He floated, safe and warm and calm in a cloud. He wasn't about to leave it.

"Agent Mulder."

The voice was insistent. It just wouldn't leave him alone. Maybe if he gave in and answered it would go away. "Hmmm...." It was all he could manage.

His head was lifted and he felt a glass against his lips. Automatically he opened his mouth and a small amount of water filled it. He swallowed. It was so good. He was given a few more swallows, then the glass was pulled away. He didn't have the motivation or the energy to protest.

"Why did you kill Scott Skinner?"

A brief flash of alarm fired through Mulder but it couldn't break through the drugged haze. He blinked, knowing there was something he needed to remember, but the concern faded, slipping away from him.

"Agent Mulder, why did you kill Scott Skinner?" The voice was calm and relentless.

Scott? Mulder wondered. Scott wasn't dead, was he? He didn't think so. The voice wouldn't leave him alone, so he answered. "Didn't."

"Agent Mulder, you didn't what?"

Mulder sighed. He was so tired. Why wouldn't the voice leave him alone, let him rest? "Didn't...kill Scott."

There was a long silence, and Mulder relaxed further, waiting for something, he didn't know what.

"Agent Mulder, do you know who killed Scott Skinner?" There was something else in the voice now, a small note of...something that Mulder didn't have the will or energy to worry about.

His head shook slowly from side to side as Mulder licked his lips. That little warning note was starting to become louder, and he tried to think, but it was so hard. It was so nice and warm and comfortable where he was. He didn't want to give that up for these annoying questions.

The sound of soft footsteps and rustling reached him, and he looked up to see the man injecting something into his I.V. Again his body tried to raise the alarm, but the drugs were too strong. He smiled, feeling the warmth enter his veins and suffuse his body. This was good. This was very good.

The man was standing over him again.

"Agent Mulder, did you know Scott Skinner?"

Mulder smiled. This was a good question, an easy question. "Know him."

"When did you last see him?"

This was harder. Mulder struggled, finally came up with, "August."

"Why did you go see him in August?"

Mulder sighed, trying to think through the wool that shrouded his brain. "Went to help."

"Help whom? Who did you go to help, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder smiled. "Walter." He liked thinking about Walter.

The man took a sharp breath. "What did you and Walter do?"

"Protected Scott. Forever. So they can't find him. So they can't ever hurt him again. Never again." Mulder nodded his emphasis.

There was another long silence, and Mulder floated, enjoying the ride. His body felt so heavy. It was nice.

"You and Walter Skinner faked Scott's death. Then you gave him another life, didn't you?"

Mulder didn't want to come back to thinking again, but the voice demanded it. He tried to explain, so the voice would understand and leave him alone. "Had to. Grabbed him once. Couldn't let it happen again. Never again. Just a boy, you know. Shouldn't hurt a child."

The voice was soft. "I know."

It began again. "Who grabbed Scott, Agent Mulder? Who was he in danger from?"

"The old man...the Smoker. His people." Mulder didn't like thinking about him.

"Did he hurt Scott?"

Mulder licked his lips again. He didn't like any of this. He wanted to go back to floating again. "No."

"Why did he kidnap Scott, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder started to feel the threads of anxiety. He didn't want to remember this. He didn't want to talk about it, but the voice wouldn't leave him alone. "Threatened Walter. Forced him to...."

"Forced him to do what, Agent Mulder?" There was a note of surprise and was it...concern...in the man's voice now.

"Hurt me." Mulder's voice was soft and broken.

"Why? Why did the Smoker want Walter to hurt you?"

"Get me...out of it. So I won't...go after him...interfere.... Hurt Walter, too."

"I don't understand. He hurt Walter, too? Or kidnapping his son hurt Walter, too?"

Mulder struggled to get it right. "Yes, but...Walter...it hurt him...to hurt me...."

The voice was confused. "Explain it, Agent Mulder."

"I was...getting close. Too close. Smoker...wanted to...delay me...derail me. Didn't want me dead. He's...had me beaten before, but...didn't stop me...so...had to try something else."

"I don't...trust...many people. Walter was one of them...is one."

"Smoker thought...if Walter...hurt me...I'd fold. And I did."

"And he released the boy?"

Mulder shook his head, a grim smile on his face. "No. He'd never...give up...that kind of hold. Walter...told me...we found him, grabbed him back."

"That doesn't sound like you folded."

Mulder didn't reply, trying not to think about that time, trying to recapture the warmth that had started to fade. It wasn't happening.

As he slowly became more aware, he realized what he'd revealed, and fear and shame began to grow. He'd broken. The bastard had broken him. He knew Scott was alive. Jesus. Mulder had to let Skinner know, somehow. They had to move the boy now. Just one little thing left. He had to get out of here, first.

"Agent Mulder, open your eyes. Look at me. I know you're coming out of it."

Mulder opened eyes bright with fear and determination.

The man's eyes met his, steady and...concerned? "It's all right. It's almost over. I'm going to tell you why I hurt you, and then I'm going to tell you what's going to happen next."

"I received information that led me to believe that you had killed Scott Skinner. I checked it out, and it seemed genuine. I'm a...friend of the family. It seemed as if you were getting away with murder here, while still pretending to be Walter's friend. Well, I could and certainly would take care of that."

"So I grabbed you, and I beat you, because I thought that you had killed a young boy. And I took pictures of you for proof that justice was done. Then I was ready to kill you, but there was one last thing to do. I wanted to know why you did it, and I wanted you to know why you were being killed. So I gave you this drug. It's...somewhat like a truth drug."

He took a deep breath. "The drug goes through four stages. The first is the body's initial reaction to it-pain, intense pain. The second stage is the part that acts like a truth drug-it relaxes and releases inhibitions. The third stage is the beginning of the drug's breakdown in the body-which causes more pain. The fourth stage is unconsciousness for several hours. There are no lasting effects."

Mulder couldn't seem to catch his breath. It was too much, too much to absorb. This bastard was a good guy? A friend of the Skinners? He wasn't going to die today? In fact, he was out of the woods, except for..."You're telling me that...the pain's coming back...soon."

"Yes."

"Oh, God." It slipped out, beyond Mulder's control. It had been...terrible, so terrible. He didn't want to go through that again. No, please. "Can't you give me something to put me out? Anything?"

"No. It's not a good idea to mix with this drug. Agent Mulder, I'm sorry. I know it's bad, but it won't last forever. A few hours, and you'll be out, and I'll take you to a hospital. You're going to be all right."

When Mulder didn't respond, he went on. "I gave you the drug, and you told me you were innocent. Not only that, but you were one of the good guys, a friend of Walter's. A very good friend, to be so involved with Scott's safety, and considering Walter's hurting you would have such a major effect on you, and they knew it."

"So here's the bottom line, Agent Mulder. I screwed up and trusted the wrong people and you paid for it. I owe you, and I won't forget it." He met Mulder's gaze again, his own serious and level.

"I'm going to ask you not to try to find me, but I do understand if you have to. I'm going to give you a way to reach me through the newspaper. If you need something, put an ad in the personals, and I'll meet with you, and if I can, I'll help. Like I said, I owe you, and I'll pay up."

Mulder believe him. He closed his eyes, tired to the bone, and let the irony of it all embrace him. A friend of the family, he said. This couldn't be anything other than one of the Smoker's tricks. Had he meant for Mulder to be killed finally, or had it been a way to test the truth about Scott? Alarm jolted through him.

If this man went after the Smoker, letting Mulder live, telling the Smoker he knew he had lied, would they wonder if Scott was alive, or would they think this man believed Mulder to be innocent of his death? And if the Smoker believed that this man believed in Mulder's innocence, wouldn't he, the family friend, that is, go after the guilty party? It was all tangled up, but it seemed that the bottom line was either this man had to go after a fictitious murderer or...or he had to make the Smoker believe that he believed that Mulder was the murderer, but he'd been punished. Would that work, though? Would any punishment less than death be acceptable for a man that killed a young boy? An idea struck him suddenly. It was ugly, but it might work. Maybe....

He opened his eyes. "Hey."

*******************************************************************

Mulder was floating again, and it was wonderful. He felt a hand gently holding his and he smiled and opened his eyes. "Hi, Walter."

"Fox." His lover's voice was rough and full of pain and joy. "I love you."

Mulder's smile widened as he met warm brown eyes. "I know. I love you, too."

End of part 10

 

* * *

 

TRUST 11  
By Tesa  
  
DATE: April 21, 2001  
RATING: NC-17   
CATEGORY: SLASH, M/SK   
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television. This is a not-for-profit fictional excursion. Thank you very much.  
SUMMARY: The end  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.  
ARCHIVE: Yes

* * *

Trust 11  
By Tesa

Mulder sprawled in his lover's arms, totally relaxed. It was Sunday morning and they had nothing to do, nowhere to go. It was perfect. They had just enjoyed a long, lazy session of pure lust. He never wanted to move again.

He was on top of Walter, his head resting on a broad, warm chest. He listened to the steady beat of the big man's heart and was comforted. They had been through so much these last few months. It was good to just lay here and be. Let the old, ugly memories and fears go and just be. He could do that now. 

The Smoker was dead. His body had been found in the basement of an abandoned apartment building. The police had received an anonymous tip. The man had been tortured. Mulder refused to think about it.

They knew nothing more about the man that had kidnapped Mulder and hurt him and then helped him. Mulder thought they probably never would know who he was. That was hard. He thought about trying to find him, but then what? If he found him, what would he do with him? Ask questions? Lame, unless he intended to do something about the answers, and he couldn't imagine what he could do. Put the man in prison? He'd probably been the one who killed the Smoker. That in itself was worth the pain he had gone through.

Scott Skinner was coming to live with them. That's right, them. They were planning on looking for a house soon. As for work, well, they would take whatever came. If it came to it, Mulder would resign. It wouldn't be easy, but it would be worth it, he knew. He'd learned the lesson well. People were the only things that mattered. Walter mattered.

His mouth curled in a smile and his hand moved to stroke Walter's arm slowly, from shoulder to fingertips, gently caressing the slightly hair-roughened skin, the firm muscles and solid bone of the man.

"Are you trying to start something, Fox?" Walter's voice rumbled through him, amusement evident.

"No. I just like touching you."

"I'm glad. I don't know if there's going to be anything happening down there for a while. I'm an old man, you know." Walter's other arm curled around him, holding him close and safe.

Mulder snorted. "Old man! You're not that much older than me in years, Walter, and as the man said, `it's not the years, it's the mileage'. I think we're pretty close on that mileage."

Walter was silent, but his arm tightened around Mulder. 

"Sorry." Mulder's voice was a whisper.

"No, Fox. Don't be sorry. It's the truth-you've been through so much." He lifted the younger man's hand and brought it to his lips, gently kissing the scarred wrist. He felt the burning behind his eyes and closed them, holding tight.

Mulder shifted abruptly, pulling himself up face to face with his lover, maintaining his position on top of the bigger man. His hands went to clasp Walter's face between them, holding his head firmly. "Walter."

The man swallowed but kept his eyes closed.

"Come on, Walter, look at me. Please."

Walter couldn't withstand that soft entreaty. He opened blurry eyes, willing the moisture to disappear. He attempted a reassuring smile that faltered too soon. Mulder wasn't smiling, but his eyes-oh, his eyes were warm and soft and Walter had to open his mouth, needing air now.

"I love you, Walter. You know that." Mulder waited for a response, smiling at the small nod he was given finally.

"It's been hard. I can't deny that. I don't want to deny that. But if I had to choose between living through what we did, or going on with my life as it was before you were forced into it, I wouldn't change anything, Walter. I'll take the pain as long as I get to keep the pleasure, too...as long as I get to keep you. You're worth it, Walter. We're worth it." Mulder gazed down at bewildered brown eyes, willing him to believe. It was only the truth. Finally he saw the smile, dawning first in his man's eyes, then curling his mouth, and the man beneath him relaxed muscles that had been drawn tight for months.

Big hands reached out and pulled him close, held him tightly. Words whispered in his ear. "You're so amazing. I love you. You're the bravest man I've ever known. Let me show you?"

Mulder smiled again and whispered his yes to loving brown eyes.

Walter held on tight and rolled them over, leaving Mulder beneath him, startling a laugh out of him. He leaned down, caressing firm warm lips with his own briefly before moving to worship that sweet spot just under his jaw.

Mulder's hands swept over his back, relearning the solid muscle and bone of the man, savoring his strength. Their cocks pressed together, hot and hard, until Walter shifted down, trailing his mouth over Mulder's neck to his chest, stopping to lick and kiss one small nipple. 

Mulder gasped, his hands going to Walter's head, holding him there, enjoying the delicate touch of teeth and gentle pulling. His heart hammered uncontrollably. Finally the big man moved on, slowly moving down the firm belly until finally he pressed his face to Mulder's groin, enjoying the gasp he wrung from the man.

Gentle hands pressed against his legs, urging them apart, and Mulder obliged, pulling them up and out, spreading himself for his lover. First gentle lips then warm, wet tongue, then long, slow fingers touched and probed him, readying him. 

Walter leaned up to look into Mulder's face as three of his fingers rested deep in his ass. Seeing only love and trust, he pulled his fingers free and guided his throbbing cock in to fill the emptiness. Watching Mulder's face, feeling his body relaxed under his own, Walter slowly pushed, until he had no more to give. Fully buried in Mulder's ass, he leaned down again to whisper to his lover. "I'm inside you, Fox."

Mulder smiled. There was some pain and discomfort, but not much, really, and it was fading as the wonder of it, the sheer wonder of Walter filling him with such joy and tenderness swept over him. This was Walter. Walter's cock had made its' home inside him. This was right. His hands rested on Walter's arms, enjoying the swelling muscles that held him up, that trembled with pleasure and restraint.

"Fuck me, Walter," he grinned up at him.

Walter laughed out loud, not able to resist. "Oh, if you insist." He slowly pulled out a bit and thrust, gently working the man beneath him. His body screamed at him to pound into the tight, hot hole that held him, but he was strong. He could be gentle. He could control himself. He would not hurt Fox. He would not. Sweat beaded his forehead and trailed down his face.

Mulder groaned. This was torture. He loved it-the slow slide of Walter's cock pressing deep inside him, gently stimulating that sweet spot was driving him insane. He knew Walter was scared of hurting him, but God, something had to give, and it wasn't going to be him! 

"Walter...oh, God...fuck me...I want you to fuck me harder...give it to me... ahhh...feels so good...."

Walter saw the wild pleasure in Mulder's face and his pleading went straight to his cock. Drawing back, he thrust hard and deep, drawing a groan out of Mulder, but now he knew it was pleasure, and he did it again, and again, watching his face all the while. Mulder was loving it. Watching closely, Walter starting to pound into the younger man harder. Seeing only lust and pleasure, he stopped thinking and just fucked his lover.

"Oh...please...Walter...uh...so good...love you...love your cock...feels so good inside me...fuck me...need you...love you deep in my ass...you fill me up...oh... oh...ughh...." Mulder came hard, and felt the pulse of warmth in his ass as Walter joined him, still thrusting but slowly and gently now, then finally stopping, coming to rest against Mulder, breath gusting hard. 

Mulder relished the closeness, the connection between them, the sheer intimacy of Walter's cock still huge and hard in his ass. It felt so good, so right. God knew he loved fucking Walter, but this...this was something more. This was an expression of ultimate trust and a sharing of all that he was, all that he would ever be. It was... healing.

They rested together, then Walter slowly pulled out of Mulder's ass and cleaned them both up before joining him again on the bed, pulling him close.

"Thank you, Fox. For trusting me...forgiving me...loving me."

Mulder kissed the hand he held now. It was answer enough.

End of part 11

  
Archived: April 22, 2001 


End file.
